Lights Out
by Ryan Callaway
Summary: Three gang members and an initiate encounter an evil in Erie County, the likes of which their worst childhood nightmares could not have conjured up. Chapters 5 and on will be removed in February because this book is being considered for publication.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Durrell Pratt glanced down at the car's clock to see that it was nearly 1 a.m. On an ordinary night he would have been asleep hours ago. Instead he was cruising a practically deserted highway of Leeds City, Erie County. He had been driving for almost an hour and had seen less than fifteen vehicles. No pedestrians on the streets at this time of night. He'd passed a few all night gas stations where workers sat in chairs, some smoking, waiting for customers. Customers that rarely came after midnight.

He realized regardless of the time, he still had a long night ahead of him. One that would turn out to be far from ordinary.

"The love of money is the root of all evil," The voice replayed in his mind. They were the words of his pastor during a sermon he'd heard weeks ago. He tuned out the other passengers, as well as all distractions outside the car, and reminisced.

"Only when someone is put in a position where money is desperately needed, does the truth of that statement become clear," The pastor had explained. "There's nothing wrong with wealth, in and of itself. Nor is there anything inherently evil about money. Yet it is the love, the desire, and the lust for it—which is capable of bringing out the darkness that resides within all of us. The nicest people in the world, in the drop of a hat, can turn into flesh eating, blood sucking, heartless monsters for the sake of financial gain."

Durrell remembered especially what was said of those who loved money. In the end, they would "fall into temptation and a snare", and "pierce themselves through with many sorrows". He had been wrestling internally with his motivations for the past six days. Was it really his desire to continue supporting his grandmother that had him out here tonight? Or was it somehow a selfish desire? Love itself could cause the best of people to act in unusual ways. It had driven some to insanity, and Durrell feared that he was going down that same road.

He tried to console himself by saying that he was doing the right thing; what anyone else with half of a heart would do in his situation. Hopefully his seemingly good intentions would help him escape what he feared was imminent. Sighing, Durrell glanced down again to see that slightly less than two gallons of gas remained in the tank. He was driving in a tan-colored, 2005 Toyota Corolla; a relatively spacious car that he didn't particularly care for. It belonged to one of the three others who were in the vehicle with him.

His girlfriend, the owner of the car, sat beside him in the passenger's seat. Her name was Jennifer, and she was a thin Hispanic girl with black hair and blonde highlights. Despite having a hardened face from the difficulties she had endured all her life, she was still a beautiful young woman. Jennifer's thin frame and her big, baleful, eyes belied the tough spirit that had initially attracted Durrell to her.

In the back seats sat Ben and Damien. Damien was a tall, white teenager with an intimidating physique. His mere presence was able to calm potentially violent situations, and his eyes were piercing. Ben was closer to Durrell's own height of 5'8", and had a similar build to Damien's but less bulky. He was Hispanic with self claimed "movie star" looks. His charisma, at least, wasn't debatable. When he wasn't being spiteful and bitter, Durrell found him a likeably guy to be around with a great sense of humor. It was rare, unfortunately, that he was anything but spiteful and bitter.

Durrell himself was black with eyes that were either light brown or hazel, depending on his mood. Either way, the brightness of them was a sharp contrast to his skin and hair color. He worked out to maintain his health, but wasn't nearly as massive as Damien. Currently, he was trying his best not to be distracted by Ben, who was sitting directly behind the driver's seat. He knew that both Ben and Damien were holding weapons in their hands. One had been brought along for Durrell's use although he hoped that the opportunity wouldn't arise.

The headlights of a larger vehicle came into view half a mile up the road. Durrell was driving down the highway, Route 130, and the lights were on the other side of the divider. It was the first vehicle they had seen since a car passed ten minutes ago. Others might have come nearby but due escaped detection due to the headlights of the Toyota Corolla being out. Durrell grimaced as the two vehicles drew nearer to each other. The other was a white van with a lone man sitting in the driver's seat. It was far too dark for any details of his clothing or face to be visible. Durrell's body tensed up as the van came within twenty yards of the Corolla.

Much to his chagrin, the van flashed its own headlights three times as it passed by. The beams were so bright that the light briefly flooded the entire car with each flash. It also blinded all of the four passengers from seeing the driver. Damien muttered, "About time," from the backseats as Durrell lowered his head. He wished that he had imagined the flashing lights but he knew he was hoping against hope. Approximately fourteen vehicles had gone by since Durrell turned off the car's headlights. None of them had bothered to warn him. Ben had been resilient and insisted that they continue to drive around until someone did flash their lights. _Now's the moment of truth. What are you going to do?_

"About time is right," Ben said. "People don't care about anybody these days. It takes twenty cars going by before ONE idiot has the courtesy to flash his lights. What's wrong with fools these days?"

"I'll have to wait for the U-Turn up the road," Durrell stated to no one in particular. He wanted to give the driver of the van time to get as far away as possible.

"Turn around right here, NOW," Ben demanded.

Durrell's eyes met with Jennifer's and she nodded her head reassuringly. He sagged his shoulders and waited until they came to a break in the divider, where he made a U-Turn in the middle of the highway. Then he stepped down a little harder on the gas pedal to pick up speed. He took notice of the gas gauge for the second time and spoke, "We should probably stop for gas…"

"Look, niggah," Ben held the muzzle of a pistol to the back of Durrell's skull. "Someone is going to get shot tonight and right now it's up to you who that's going to be. Either that goodie two shoes in the van or you. What do you want?"

"Ben, relax," Jennifer glared back at him. "We are a little low on gas. He was just warning you."

"Yeah, alright," Ben lowered the gun as he peered over Durrell's shoulder to see the gauge for himself. He considered it for a moment before saying, "The quicker we catch up to him, the better. We can stop for gas after you take care of him. So stop driving like an old lady and keep up."

Without saying a word, Durrell sped up. The van was roughly thirty yards ahead by now and was moving at a relatively slow pace. The speed limit for the highway was 45 miles per hour. Drivers usually went at 50 or 55 unless the police were around. There weren't any tonight, although Durrell wouldn't mind being pulled over. _Anything to get me out of this. _The van was going a little less than the speed limit and Durrell's vehicle was gaining ground on it with every second. There were double doors in the back of the truck with windows three-fourths of the way up. Durrell switched the headlights on as he neared.

"What are we going to do?" He asked.

"Try to pull alongside him and I'll take the wheel," Jennifer said, solemnly. "Then it's all your job, hon."

"Great," Durrell muttered.

Durrell increased the speed of the car even more and swerved to the left. Jennifer rolled her window down with one hand while reaching back with the other to accept the pistol from Ben. She inspected it to make sure that the safety was off before holding it securely in both hands. Then she stared at her boyfriend, immediately seeing the consternation on his face. It was less than sixty degrees outside and he was beginning to sweat. His eyes were trained on the driver's side window of the vehicle they were pursuing. His mind occupied by what he was practically being forced to do. Jennifer wanted to take him home and tell him to forget about joining the gang but she knew it was too late. Regardless of her arguments, Durrell would either murder the driver of the van, or Ben would murder him.

The Toyota gingerly pulled up alongside the larger van and Durrell's hands tightened on the wheel. He would be able to see inside the van soon. From what his girlfriend had told him, he would have a narrow window of opportunity to fire. Victims were usually too shocked or frightened at the aggressiveness of the initiates to respond quickly. She had recounted to him her own initiation into the Hoods. Five years had passed since that day and she still remembered it in vivid detail. The reaction of the older man to the weapon in her hands never ceased to haunt her. _What if he has a kid in the van with him? _The rules were that all occupants had to be killed. If there was a child in there, infant or toddler, he wouldn't have any choice but to…_kill it, too._

Another second or two and Durrell would be side by side with the van. He wondered what the expression on the face of his victim would be. Whether it would be the sheer terror that he expected, or what Jennifer had described. Would the man simply watch him with grief in his eyes, asking what he had done to deserve such a fate; looking like a pathetic animal caught in the headlights of an approaching vehicle? As haunted by what she saw as Jennifer was, Durrell had no doubt he would never forget the man's face. _Is it really worth it? _Durrell didn't think he could live with the guilt of having taken an innocent human being's life. His grandmother, on the other hand, might die if he didn't.

"Here," Jennifer whispered while holding the gun out to Durrell. "Take it."

One of his shaky hands came off the steering wheel and accepted the gun. His fingers managed to close around the handle of the instrument of death. He removed his eyes from the van for a second to glance at what he was wielding. It was cold and lifeless and had probably already left many innocent people the same way. Just like Ben and Damien, Durrell was now in the place of a hunter. He was a man preying on the life of another person who was minding his own business—possible someone with a family and children waiting at home. If they weren't in the van with him.

Durrell's index finger found the trigger and he aimed the gun directly at the window of the van. Jennifer leaned toward him, keeping her body underneath his arm to avoid an accident. She covered her ears with both hands and closed her eyes. Durrell desperately wished he could do the same as he peered into the window, his finger beginning to tighten on the trigger. There was movement from inside the window and Durrell saw the brim of a dark hat come into view as the driver leaned forward. He prepared himself to see the face of the man…

The van suddenly veered to the right, catching Durrell, Ben, and Damien by surprise. Ben and Damien jumped and swore while Durrell yelped. Tires screeched on asphalt as a result of the large vehicle struggling to complete the abrupt change of direction. Jennifer sat up and turned around in time to watch, with the others, the van go roaring down an exit. Durrell dropped the gun into his lap and wrestled with the steering wheel, trying to keep his own vehicle under control. He barely avoided crashing into the divider before pulling the Toyota to a gradual stop. Then he paused with the car parked in the middle of the highway road.

All four passengers sat in momentary silence and disbelief. No one had expected the driver of the van to react as rashly as he had. There was no way he could have seen the gun in the dark. Ben, on the many occasions where he drove along for an initiation, hadn't seen anything like it. He shook his head and exchanged a glance with Damien. "The hell was that about?"

"Most people think the 'lights out' initiation is an urban myth or something," Jennifer told him. "Maybe that guy is familiar enough with the area to know that it's true?"

"Whatever," Ben shrugged. "He's not getting off the hook. Back up and follow him."

Groaning, Durrell reluctantly put the gear into Reverse and obeyed Ben's command. He scanned the area around them as well as the rearview mirrors for any signs of help. _Still nothing. _The police in town were notorious for roaming the streets late at night to pull over unsuspecting speeders and gang bangers. They were especially tenacious toward the end of the month, which it was. Tonight, however, it was as if Durrell had sealed his fate the second he climbed into the car. He'd had several opportunities prior to tonight to change his mind. Now it appeared that they were all exhausted.

When he had backed up enough, Durrell took the exit to the right. He could see the taillights of the van in the distance. They were like a pair of red eyes staring back at him, warning him to pursue no further; possibly even reflecting the evil that would overtake him - if he indeed spilled blood tonight. _I don't have many options at this point, do I? _

Almost as if in response, the van accelerated and went out of view, seemingly disappearing into the night. Swallowed up by the darkness that shrouded the road. Both sides of the two-lane street were framed by thick forestry. The streetlights set up roughly every twenty yards did little to penetrate the enveloping gloom. They were counteracted by the creepy shadows from the trees, crawling along the surface of the street. The thick clouds in the sky created more shadows as they constantly drifted in front of the waning moon.

Realizing that there was quite a distance between he and the van, Durrell carefully increased the speed of the Totoya to 75 miles per hour. He was uncomfortable traveling at such a velocity but had to catch up. Although there were no deer signs in view he knew they lived out here. One had crashed through the windshield of a car two months ago and impaled the driver and passenger with its antlers. The local newspaper didn't show pictures of the accident until the blood was cleaned up. Those who investigated and recovered the bodies said that it had covered the car, the deer, and the road all around. Durrell thought about bringing it up but knew his cause wouldn't be helped. Ben and Damien could care less. _All they're worried about is playing their sick game._

"Turn the radio on," Jennifer suggested.

"Huh?" Durrell asked, not removing his eyes from the empty road ahead of them. He had barely heard her voice and didn't understand what she was saying initially. _Vans aren't known for moving THAT fast. _It was possible that he was being impatient due to the stress of his circumstances. Yet even then, he thought that the van should have been in view by now. Instead his gaze was returned by a forlorn setting. He hadn't noticed the name of the road when turning onto it, and it didn't appear remotely familiar. "Do what?"

"The radio," Jennifer said again, louder this time. "It'll help to numb your mind some and make it easier to…"

"Don't listen to her," Ben snapped. "Just worry about driving. What kind of a man are you if you can't handle a little assignment like this?"

"Ben, shut up or I'm going to slap the taste out of your mouth," Jennifer responded. "Music will help him get into the mood for this. Leave him alone."

Focusing on anything but the task at hand seemed unlikely. There were reports, however, of serial killers and gangsters listening to music to ease a nagging conscience. No doubt, meditating on violent rap and rock music could release one's inhibitions. Durrell was well aware of that and he preferred the lighter songs. His grandmother, who had raised him from the age of 5, made it clear that she wouldn't allow certain things in her house. He respected her enough not to tamper with those "things" outside of the house. Tonight though, he would do whatever was necessary to lighten the burden he felt on his shoulders.

"Good idea," Durrell said, pressing the button to turn the radio on.

An old jazz song was beginning with the lyrics, "I don't care what the weatherman says when the weatherman says it's raining. You'll never hear me complaining; I'm certain the son will shine. I don't care how the weathervane points when the weathervane points to gloomy. It's got to be sunny to me-"

"What in the…" Ben stammered.

"When your eyes look into mine," The song continued.

"Hey man, turn that garbage off," Ben urged as Durrell was reaching up to switch the channels. "The hell was that song? And why is your radio even on that station, Jen?"

"Don't start," Jennifer grinned. "I like the oldies."

"And you're dating a youngster who is trying to take every opportunity to get out of this. That makes sense."

"We all had to start somewhere," Jennifer shrugged, despondently. "To be honest with you, I wish I had a way out of this type of life. And even more so, I wish I hadn't even mentioned it to Durrell. There's money and protection, but…"

"If I had a choice, which I don't…" Ben replied. "I'd get out, too."

The talking stopped when Durrell found a station playing a Snoop Dogg song, "Murder Was the Case." The sound and lyrics were nearly a perfect fit for the present situation. It was a surprisingly tame song with few, if any (Durrell couldn't remember) profanities, and a lack of explicit lyrics. Apparently the artist had a near-death experience in which someone representing the devil offered him a second chance. He was allowed to come back to life for a price. Durrell could relate to a degree. He was practically selling his soul with his actions.

His grandmother had always taken pride in being able to support Durrell without him working. She was adamant about him staying the course in school and earning a decent education. Her son, Durrell's father, had been a blue collar worker who struggled most of his life. She refused to accept the same for her grandson. Durrell had been content to obey her until her employer called him to say that her mental health was declining. As a result, her hours would decrease dramatically and eventually she would be laid off. To support her employer's claim, she didn't notice the drop from 40 hours to 25. Nor did she have any idea that Durrell had dropped out of high school in search of work. He hadn't had the heart to tell her.

Two bright red dots showed up in the horizon and Durrell shook his head clear. He had turned the radio on to help him escape his dilemmas. His sweet grandmother and their financial predicament was the last issue he desired to have on his mind. Yet, the song had stirred up memories that he'd been fighting to hold off. That was the single silver lining in all of this. Becoming a part of the gang would allow him access to enough money to support his grandmother. He might even be able to return to school if…

_It's the van. _The vehicle was parked right in the middle of the road with the driver's door wide open. Durrell slowed down and warily observed their surroundings. His first thought was that the driver had gotten out to attempt an ambush. There was no telling what kind of weapons he might have had in the van with him. Ben and Damien joined him in scanning the woods on both sides, searching for movement or hints as to where the driver had gone. Jennifer, meanwhile, was staring nervously at the van itself.

"Maybe it's a setup," Damien offered, rolling his window down and poking his head outside for a clearer view. A relieving, brisk, wind met his face and was carried into the car behind him. "Smells like pork..."

"You think so?" Ben raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe Jennifer was right and they've caught onto the initiation," Durrell said. "I don't think it would be wise to have a run-in with the police."

He was only partially telling the truth. If it was a police officer, then he or she had obviously seen the gun in Durrell's hand. The driver had leaned forward into a position where the side-view mirror might have exposed the inhabitants of the Toyota. Ben and Damien didn't fear the police and Durrell knew they would resist arrest. The cops would then target Durrell along with them since he had been seconds away from murdering an officer. _I know they saw me. _Hopefully they would listen to reason and spare his life.

"There's nowhere for them to be hiding backup squads," Ben reasoned. "The cops would have had a bunch of patrol cars waiting for us with more following up. It's not them. The engine stalled and he ran for it. That's all."

"It's either that, or…" Damien paused for dramatic effect. "The Erie County Devil got him."

Damien and Ben laughed.

"Must you be a jerk?" Jennifer asked, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, I'm just saying," He shrugged. "Even I don't go out near Shady Dawn after dark. In fact, none of the gangs do."

"Probably because there ain't a damn thing out there," Ben shook his head, grinning. "Erie County Devil. The hell's your problem?"

As the two laughed, Durrell brought the Toyota to a halt ten yards away from the van. The engine of the other vehicle sounded like it was still running and smoke was pouring out of the exhaust pipe. There had presumably been plenty of time for the driver to take his keys with him. He'd remained out of sight for five or ten minutes with Durrell trailing. So what had happened?

"Let's go," Ben opened the backdoor on his side and started to stand up when he noticed Damien doing the same. "Wait here with Jennifer. Durrell and I can handle this ourselves."

"You're going to take your chances with that punk?" Damien argued. "He barely knows how to hold a gun, and you know he doesn't want to go through with it. It's too dangerous for you to go with him alone. And if something happens to you then I can't say I won't ice him for it."

"Calm down, man," Ben stood up. "We'll be all right. You know darn well I can carry him if I have to. Besides, in case it is an ambush would you leave Jennifer in the car by herself?"

"Just be careful," Damien sat back, eyeing Durrell the whole time. He didn't speak a word to him, but Durrell could see that the look was a warning not to mess up.

Ignoring Damien's glare, Durrell pushed open his own car door and started to climb out when Jennifer touched his forearm. He paused, turning back to her. She was staring at him with an expression as intense as Damien's, yet with far different emotions behind it. At first he thought it was fear. All of the men were slightly rattled by the odd behavior of the van driver. There was a tint of fear in the eyes of even Damien and Ben to Durrell's surprise. Jennifer, on the other hand, gazed into his eyes with regret. He knew what was on her mind prior to her parting her lips to whisper.

"I'm sorry I got you into this, Durrell. I hope you'll be able to forgive me for bringing it up in the first place. It's all my fault."

"No," Durrell reached over with his right hand and placed it atop hers. "You were trying to help in the only way you knew how to. I made the decision to come out here tonight so don't blame yourself."

"If something happens…" Jennifer's voice cracked and hindered her from finishing the sentence.

"We'll be fine," Durrell squeezed her hand, fighting the urge to remain in the seat. Despite the grief etched on her face, Jennifer's eyes were always an escape for him. Life hadn't treated her particularly well and Durrell was well aware of that. Her reasons for joining the gang were far more severe than his. She had witnessed and taken part in things that she refused to share with him to the present day; for fear that he would leave her if he learned everything about her. That would never happen.

Winking to her, Durrell released her hand and climbed out of the car. He figured it wiser to leave the keys turned into ignition, rather than risk a delay in the event that a fight broke out. Also, if anything happened to he and Ben he wanted Jennifer to have an opportunity to escape quickly. Perhaps his death would convince her to leave the gang for good. _Stop thinking like that. The cops won't just shoot you._ That was true. Police procedure required officers to use the least amount of force necessary. Armed and dangerous criminals were warned once or twice before police escalated to lethal tactics. Ben was wielding an AK-47, an automatic weapon, with the muzzle trained on the van. Durrell held the pistol loosely in his right hand, prepared to drop it in a moment's notice.

He stepped to the side and slammed the car door shut. It sounded like an explosion in his ears and was loud enough to startle Ben. The gang leader muttered under his breath while motioning for Durrell to follow. He begrudgingly obliged, glancing to each side for signs of an ambush. The forest was undisturbed. No movement on either side. The trees and various plants beyond the road were so dense that Durrell had the impression that he and Ben were surrounded by massive black walls. The lone indication that they were trees was the visible outline of the tops, forty-five feet above the road.

As they came nearer to the van, the silence of the forest around them began to bother Durrell. He could hear the low hum of the Toyota's engine twenty feet to the rear, barely audible due to the louder engine of the van. Absent was the usual night chorus consisting of dozens or hundreds of crickets rubbing their hind legs together. Birds occasionally joined in with chirps here and there. After 2:30 or 3 a.m., the birds came out to stay, adding to the natural symphony until the sun rose and the crickets ceased their song. Erie County residents enjoyed opening their windows at night to hear the sounds. The forests were especially musical at night. _Except for tonight._ A faint, howling, wind was all that Durrell could hear besides the vehicles.

"Get up there and turn his engine off," Ben ordered, peering into the van's vacant front seats. "I'll watch your back."

"Hold the gun," Durrell held it out to him.

"Okay," Ben said. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned closer, "Take it with you. I think he's hiding in the back."

"Wouldn't he have run off by now?"

"That's just what he wants us to think," Ben continued to talk quietly, nodding at the open driver's door. "Why else would he leave the door open and the engine on? He's trying to create the impression that he rushed out. I say he's hiding in there, waiting for us to run around the forest looking for him. Then he'll pull off. Or he's hiding in the forest because he thought all of us would get out of our car. Either way, he's definitely nearby."

"And if he really did run out into the forest like a maniac?"

"Then I'll owe you one," Ben grinned. "But I don't think I'm wrong."

It made some sense. In actuality, none of the driver's actions were reasonable. He had managed to stay far ahead of the Toyota. _So why did he stop in the first place? _Maybe the constant high speed or the earlier sudden turn had caused the van to malfunction. Didn't matter, Durrell had a job to do. No matter how much he hated it.

He dropped the pistol on the seat and grasped the steering wheel with one hand, and the back of the chair with the other. He tugged at the objects twice to make sure that they would support his weight. Then Durrell hoisted himself up into the van and placed his knee on the seat. Once he was steady, he scooped the gun up from the cushion. _Oh, man._

The side of the gun that had been lying in the seat was wet. His first assumption was that the driver had lost control of his bladder in fear. Disgusted, Durrell dropped the gun and turned his hand over to see what it was. Not urine or water, both of which would be clear in the darkness. The tips of his fingers and his palm were covered by a dark, thick, liquid. He raised his hand so that the light from the headlights of the Toyota hit it. The rear windows of the van were dusty, but the illumination allowed him to see color. Crimson.

While he stared in shock at his hand, a foul odor wafted across Durrell's nostrils. He balked in revulsion, balling his hand into a fist to avoid covering his face with it. Whatever was in the seat looked like blood and he wanted it off of his skin as soon as possible. _Especially if it's causing that awful stench. _The odor permeating the air resembled a combination of rotten eggs and old garbage. He'd never smelled anything quite like it before. _I have to get out of here. _It was trapped in the van and being inside probably wasn't safe for health reasons. _Has to be toxic, whatever it is…_

Durrell prepared to move backwards when something in the back of the van caught his attention. There was an open space behind the seats with equipment hanging from the ceiling. The shadows left most of the tools unrecognizable, though a few had sharpened edges that glistened in the dim light. Rows of odd utensils lined the walls, some sticking out of compartments, some held in place by strips of a leathery material. Lying on the floor close to Durrell was rope, coiled in several layers.

Beyond them were five large objects, wrapped in white sheets and bound by rope. They were long, ranging between five and a half to six feet in length, with unique shapes. Despite the differences, all of the objects shared a distinct human outline. A chill settled along Durrell's spine as he sucked in a deep breath. He regretted it immediately when the tainted air entered his lungs. The smell, terrible as it was, was the least of his concerns. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, what was under the sheets either closely resembled human bodies or… they _were_ human bodies. _Let's not jump to conclusions._

The van might have been transporting life-like dolls. _Too big to be children's toys. _True, yet there were plenty of plausible possibilities. Life-sized replicas of sports players, wrestlers, and celebrities were popular. The tools might be back there to provide maintenance for the models. They could have been damaged and were on their way to the factory where they were produced. The ropes were there to hold the dummies intact. _Yeah, that sounds right. _It was more rational than believing that there were human bodies underneath the sheets.

Durrell could have convinced himself of that if not for another problem. The sheets were stained in various locations along the bodies. Dark stains that matched the appearance of the liquid on his hand. He hoped that it was due to a leak. There were chains tied into machinery in the ceiling, swaying gently back and forth. Large hooks had been attached at their ends. Five of the hooks were directly above the wrapped and roped objects. To Durrell's dismay, only one was dripping the same dark liquid onto the torso of the _corpse_ underneath it. It didn't account for the blood that coated the body's face area. And it certainly had nothing to do with the hand sticking out of a tear in the sheet. A pale, lifeless hand.

With his head spinning, Durrell stepped back and gingerly climbed out of the van. The instant his feet touched the concrete, his stomach began churning violently. Falling to his knees, he doubled over as his abdomen sucked itself into his spine. Then his stomach emptied itself of its contents and he gagged, struggling to breathe as his airway was obstructed by vomit.

Ben watched him, confused. The driver of the van must have killed himself to avoid a brutal death. That or the excitement of the night had finally caught up to poor Durrell. The look in his eyes, though, had been one of sheer terror. He had seen _something. _Feeling uneasy, Ben turned and climbed up into the seat. His hand fell into the same liquid that Durrell's had, and he lifted it to his face. Blood. _That wimp couldn't handle a little blood? _Ben was about to mock him until he saw the scene in the back of the vehicle.

"AAAAAAAH!" A shrill scream broke the silence, causing Ben to jump and bump his head on the ceiling. "Damien!"

_Now what? _The contents of Durrell's stomach had finished emptying out onto the pavement. He recognized the scream as having come from Jennifer's vocal cords. She had never screamed before in his hearing but her voice was unmistakable. Immediately, he staggered up to his feet and jogged toward the Toyota. Jennifer was sitting in the passenger's seat, staring off into the forest on the side of the road. Damien was gone.

Durrell ran around to her side of the car and pulled the door open. Tears were streaming down Jennifer's face and her eyes were stretched. She didn't even seem to notice him standing there. Her focus was on the unmoving, soundless forest. Durrell reached down and took up one of her trembling hands in his own (the one without blood on it). He doubted he would be of any comfort since he was shaking as well, struggling to put the image of the bodies out of his head.

"What happened, Jennifer?"

"He… Damien…" Jennifer's lips were quivering so frantically that she could barely speak.

"Where's Damien?!" Ben called, running from the direction of the van.

"He grabbed him… snatched him right out of the car!" Jennifer said.

"What?"

"Damien…" Jennifer paused to take a few deep breaths. "We were sitting in here, wondering what was taking you guys so long. I looked up and there was a man in a coat and hat standing next to the car. He reached in through the back window and pulled Damien out. That's when I screamed and… he dragged Damien out into the forest."

"He what?" Ben asked. "There's no way someone could just drag Damien off like that. You know how tough he is."

"That's what happened!" Jennifer screamed at him. "I don't know how he did it. Damien was trying to fight him off but… but… it was like he was helpless."

Durrell and Ben exchanged a glance. Jennifer was in shock but they knew she wasn't the type to make up details. As insane as her story sounded it was corroborated by the obvious. Damien was nowhere to be seen, and he _had _rolled his window down earlier. _But no one could… _He was over two hundred pounds of muscle and had the skill to engage more than one person at a time. Jennifer had told Durrell about some of his exploits and they weren't exaggerated. So how could a single person yank him out of the car and drag him away like a little child?

Ben whirled around to face the forest, holding the AK-47 in a ready position. Spraying the area with bullets would drop whoever had attacked his friend. At the same time, Damien might get hurt too. If he wasn't already dead. Ben refused to accept that idea. Damien had survived a lot worse than some nutcase in a hat and coat. Or nutcases. There had to be two or three of them to be able to move with such speed carrying a grown man. And they had also probably left the five corpses in the back of the van.

While Durrell stooped down to hold Jennifer, Ben's eyes lowered to the pavement. A weapon identical to the one he had was lying a few feet from the edge of the road. He had brought along three AK-47's and two pistols for the ride. Damien had instinctively grabbed it as he was yanked out of the car. Then what? Either one of the attackers had slapped the weapon down, or Damien had dropped it. If the first was true then why hadn't they taken the gun along with them? And what would cause him to drop it after hanging onto it at first? _Is it really important to try and find out? _No, it wasn't. But Ben had a feeling that whoever had taken Damien would come back for the van… and possibly for the rest of them.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Durrell, Jennifer, and Ben were in the Toyota five minutes later, heading back towards Route 130. Few words had been spoken since they decided to leave the van. After informing the rest of the gang about what had happened, Ben planned to return. He wouldn't forsake his friend, his cousin, by leaving him out to dry. Hopefully Damien had put up a fight once the surprise of the sudden attack wore off. In the best case scenario, he would be waiting next to the van when the others returned.

Less optimistic was Durrell, who was quietly hoping that the van driver would be long gone by the time the trio returned. The image of the bodies lying on the vehicle's floor, wrapped in bloody sheets, had not departed from his mind. Nor had the notion that he, Jennifer, Ben, and Damien, would join the dead by the end of the night. He was driving at a steady 65 miles per hour to put as much road between the Toyota and the van as possible.

In addition to the horrific sight and the disappearance of Damien, Durrell's mind was occupied with Jennifer. He had never seen her cry or heard her scream before. She had encountered a plethora of risky situations and dilemmas in the past. The majority of which would have left the average 21 year old girl in shambles. There was something different about this incident, though. Something that had her petrified. Durrell glanced over to see that she was staring down into her lap, her eyes unwavering.

They had dated for three years prior to her telling Durrell that she was a part of the Hoods, a highly feared gang with factions spread throughout the United States. Ironically they had met at a church through Durrell's grandmother. Jennifer spoke proper English with a vocabulary that astounded those who knew her background, and was always well-dressed and polite. From the beginning, however, he'd realized that she was different from most young women when it came to her calmness, her reserve. Under conditions that would cause others, even men, to lose their rationale – Jennifer held it together. If not for her support, he wasn't sure where he would be.

A frantic beeping sounded and caught all three of them off guard. Durrell gritted his teeth and Jennifer looked up at him, recognizing the tone immediately.

"What the hell's that?" Ben asked from the backseats.

A flashing light from within the car lured Durrell's eyes to the dashboard. He noticed that the pointer of the gas gauge was on 0. Beside the gauge the warning light flashed yellow, further indicating that the gas was nearly out. Peering over Durrell's shoulder, Ben witnessed this as well and swore. All of their eyes were briefly glued to the gauge and the warning light, as if their very lives depended on whether the warnings were exaggerated or not.

"It might just be letting us know now so we can pull over and find a gas station, right?" Jennifer wondered. "Why wait until the very last minute to tell us that we're running so low?"

"Exactly," Ben piped in. "We've got to have at least ten minutes left."

"I don't know," Durrell shook his head, hesitantly. "The last time the warning light went off I was on a busy freeway. The speed everyone was moving at made it impossible to pull over. I didn't even try. Somehow, though, I made it 3 miles on 'empty' just in time to reach the gas station."

"Think we're going to get that lucky?"

"It wasn't luck. I was praying the entire time…"

"Well, don't hold out on us now. Get to praying unless you want to be stuck out here."

"That was before I let my girlfriend talk me into joining a murderous gang," Durrell muttered. "What am I going to say? 'Lord, we were out to kill innocent people tonight. Please get us home safely?'"

Jennifer winced as if she had been struck in the ribs. The nervousness in her eyes was replaced with pain and she turned her head to hide it. Durrell instantly wished he had considered the potential impact of his words before they left his mouth. With all the trouble arising around them, the last thing he wanted was to upset his girlfriend. She needed to be comforted, not reminded of her bad decisions. Then again, the decision was more Durrell's than hers, although he tried to blame her at times. _And I'm wrong to do that. I made my own decision. It was between me and God… nothing to do with her. And I screwed up._

Voicing those words would probably ease whatever tension he had created between them. It was as simple as Durrell opening his mouth and using his tongue the same way he had a second ago. Only for good this time and not for evil. He recalled the wise words, "The tongue is a little member and boasts great things. See how great a forest a little fire kindles." The same tongue agreeing to do evil had opened the doorway to tonight's problems in the first place.

While he was struggling to speak up and console Jennifer with his words, the nagging beep from the warning light brought his attention to a more pressing issue. He sighed and mentally cycled through his options. They were limited, and with every second that passed, he was losing the opportunity to choose one. _Come on. Think. Think._

"Well maybe it was luck that time and we'll be fine," Ben interrupted the uncomfortable cessation of conversation. "We should be able to at least get five or ten miles out of it, right?"

As if in reply to his question, the Toyota roughly hopped on its wheels.

Durrell, out of pure instinct, almost stomped down on the brake pedal. He had the sense to contain himself, and instead relieved pressure on the gas. The car was jarred once again and Jennifer and Ben turned to Durrell, expectantly. Ben hollered over his shoulder, "Are you trying to kill us? Stop now!"

_Can't do that. _At 60-65 miles per hour, he _would_ kill all of them if he suddenly slammed on the brakes. The car would either go out of control, or skid and flip over a few times. It wasn't worth the risk. Ignoring Ben's protests, and the constantly lurching vehicle, he slowed moderately to keep control. Then he brought the car over to the right side of the road while it sputtered and coughed to a halt. He did that to prevent a wreck in the event that some idiot came speeding along, not paying attention.

"Ah, great," Ben groaned. "Now what?"

"Jennifer…" Durrell extended his hand towards her.

KER-KRUNCH! The roof of the Toyota caved in and Durrell threw himself into a screaming Jennifer. He held her down with one hand while covering his head with the other. Ben cursed and draped himself over the backseats, protecting his head as well. Whatever had hit the roof slid off and laid still over the hood and the cracked windshield. _The hell was that? _Durrell had heard of a comet or something crashing into a couple's house a year ago. He cautiously sat up, avoiding the inverted roof, and pushed his car door open. Jennifer latched onto his arm and when he turned to her, she shook her head.

"Take a gun with you at least," She whispered.

He didn't think they were in any danger. Except from heavy falling objects that might be following up the damage caused by the first. It would be wise to find out what it was and, if it were a piece of comet or plane, seek refuge in the forest. The thick branches would serve as a filter, shielding them from the larger chunks. Durrell pulled but Jennifer was too strong and held on tightly.

"I mean it, Durrell," Jennifer's eyes showed that she wasn't letting him go otherwise.

"Fine," Durrell picked up the pistol, which Ben had retrieved and wiped off, and climbed out into the night. A cursory look over the sky relieved his fear that more UFOs were on the way. He didn't see anything except the dark clouds moving by. Then he lowered his eyes to the car and cried out in surprise. "Oh, man!"

"What?" Ben followed him out from the other side, AK-47 in hand, and walked to the front of the car. If it was the jerk in the hat, then he wasn't afraid of facing him. Yet when he spotted what had stunned Durrell, his bravado all but disappeared.

Lying on his back across the windshield and the hood of the car was Damien. His body was twisted in an awkward position with one leg pinned underneath his muscular torso. The other was sprawled over the glass with his hips. His arms were hanging out in space past the car's hood, revealing a blackened stain on his right side. Durrell and Ben stepped up near his head which was turned to one side. The eyes were closed.

"Damien!" Ben jumped up onto the hood of the car, surveying his friend's visible injuries. He placed the gun next to his knee and gently touched Damien's shoulder. "Damien…"

"It's Damien?" Jennifer scrambled out of the car and approached them. "Oh, no…"

"Aaaack!" Damien cried out, his arms flailing wildly.

Jennifer and Durrell screamed and jumped away while Ben leaned back.

"Get away from me!" Damien yelled, his voice gurgling because of the blood in his throat and mouth. He began punching at the air with as much force as he could muster, hitting Ben in the arms once or twice. "Get away from me you freak! Get away…"

The punches weakened until Damien's arms collapsed at his side. Then he stared straight up into the sky, his eyes wide with fright. Ben leaned closer now that the violence had subsided and grasped Damien's shoulders to gain his attention. His blank gaze was frozen on the dark abyss above their heads as he quietly muttered, "Get away…. Away from me…" Then his head dropped down and blood spilled out of the sides of his mouth, rolling down his cheeks.

Ben bowed his head, fighting down the sobs threatening to burst out of his chest. He closed his hands into tight fists and slipped off of the hood. His hands trembled as he turned and walked towards the rear of the car. Punch something or cry. Those were the only reactions he could have to the emotions welling up inside him. Moving away from Damien's body, Jennifer, and Durrell would prevent them from being victims of his rage. He slammed his fist on the bumper and cried out in an angry, desperate, roar of pain.

"That was my cousin, man…" He said, shaking his head. "I've known him since we were little kids…"

Hoping that Damien was alive, Durrell reached out with one trembling hand and held his index finger against Damien's head, an inch in front of the ear. The pulse there was located without the difficulty of the one on the throat. It also allowed Durrell to retain a safe distance from the blood that had streamed out of the man's mouth. _No pulse._ "He's… gone."

Durrell turned to the torso itself, noting the bloodstain that covered Damien's entire right side. He had obviously fallen from a considerable height. A two-hundred pound man didn't need to fall far in order to crush the roof of a car. Forty or fifty feet, the height of the trees, would do the trick. _How did he get up there, though? No way he got past the Toyota on foot._

Not wanting to see the injury, but thinking it might be helpful to tell if the fall had killed him, Durrell took a hold of the edge of Damien's shirt. It was baggy and thick so the blood hadn't reached that part of the clothing. The fact that the blood wasn't all over the car indicated that the wound was there earlier. And it apparently had time to bleed out. _It's not too late to forget it._ It was too late in Durrell's mind. Whether Damien had fallen or been murdered made all the difference…

He lifted the shirt up to underneath Damien's armpit and observed the bared torso. _What?_ Durrell's eyes were drawn to a vertical laceration along the flesh there. He'd seen nasty injuries and watched a surgery or two on television. Nothing compared to the sight now in front of him. The wound was open towards the top, directly underneath Damien's quadriceps. No blood was visible through the gash, only reddened gore, and it closed off two inches down where the skin folded. From there down to the waistline, the lesion had been partly closed. The meat and muscle underneath peeked out at Durrell through the narrower opening. It was partly concealed by thick, horizontally placed, strands of string. The ends of each piece were under the skin, out of sight. _Thank God. _Up at the top of the wound the tip of the string was broken off and in clear view. As if someone had been _sowing_ _him back together, and stopped..._

"He… he sowed him back together?" Jennifer stammered.

"I…" Durrell had been holding his breath so he released some air and took a deep breath. "L-looks like it."

"What kind of a sick monster sows someone back together?" Jennifer turned away and stooped down, hugging her head with her arms. "Tell me I'm having a nightmare already… please…"

_I wish it was a nightmare, _Durrell thought, allowing Damien's shirt to fall and cover the gruesome injury. As disgusting as the bile remaining in his mouth tasted, he wished he could throw up again. His body tensed and his stomach began to churn but there was nothing left to come up. He turned away and doubled over, dry heaving. The pain of his stomach contracting, yet producing no results, was masked by the visual playing behind his eyelids. He'd closed his eyes to blank it out to no avail. The stitched wound on Damien's carcass haunted him to the core.

"Please tell me I'm dreaming…."

"Alright, we're not going to stick around and wait for that jerk to show up," Ben walked over, his hands on his head. "We're going to get to town, call in some backup of our own, and come kill this monkey."

"And how do you propose we get back to town?" Durrell asked.

"Too far to walk. Especially if he – or they – is still out there. I say we walk back to the van since it's a lot closer than Route 130. We can at least reach it at the same time that he does and once he's in the open, we fill his body with bullets. Then we take the van. Easy."

"I don't know. I don't think we should walk all the way back. I heard that there's a hotel behind the woods closer to Route 130. We'd only have to track through… half a mile to reach it."

"Do you know exactly where it is?"

"Not sure."

"Well, we know exactly where the van is. And besides, he left the keys are in it. It's a quick getaway."

"Maybe you're right," Durrell conceded. He wasn't sure where the hotel was, or even if it existed. He'd only heard about it.

"Let me make sure I give him a proper burial," Ben's eyes watered upon the sight of Damien sprawled across the hood of the car. "I can't leave him like that."

Nodding, Durrell followed Ben's gaze to the broken remains of the man. Through his fear, he did feel some remorse at Damien's demise. Tonight had been the first and last meeting they'd had and it wasn't pleasant by any means. Durrell disliked him for the nonchalant attitude he'd adopted in regard to murder. Yet, he couldn't hate him because he believed that all people were murderers inwardly. The majority of the human race was too cowardly to kill. In the right circumstances, all of them except the most devout in the religious communities would commit murder. Six months ago, Durrell himself was one year into college majoring in theology. His sights had been set on becoming a minister. Today, he had almost made the leap from a murderer at heart to a physical one.

That transition had come some time ago for Damien and Ben. They both deserved to die… _but in a sense, I'm no better than they are. _Durrell also couldn't be satisfied with Damien's death because he believed in an afterlife. And he knew that the man was possibly facing something far worse than what took his life. It was hard to believe that after hearing the desperation in his voice, but it was true. _We're not there yet. _No. They were still alive, and they had a corpse-sowing maniac to contend with. One who had left a grown 200-pound man lying pathetically on top of a car. One who would probably make their last few moments on earth a living hell.

_Not if we can help it. _Durrell watched solemnly as Ben scooped an arm underneath Damien's knees, and another under his shoulders. Regardless of what Damien had done, he was a human being. He was a man who had children at home according to Jennifer. And no one besides the authorities had a right to take his life. To leave him an empty shell, a lifeless being. "Do you need a hand?"

"No, I've got him," Ben said, pulling Damien off of the car and staggering under his weight. He readjusted his grip, and then walked towards the forest. "I'll be right back."

As Ben went off into the forest, Durrell approached Jennifer and kneeled in front of her. She was in the same exact position; crouching while cradling her head in her arms. Jennifer resembled a young child, hiding her face to make the _boogeyman_ go away. The arms somehow provided a safe haven that no monster of the imagination could penetrate. The immature reaction was fitting for the nightmarish predicament. Durrell himself wished he could retreat into a similar escape. Unfortunately, for both of their sakes he had to hold it together as long as his sanity lingered.

"Jennifer," Durrell drew her gently into his arms. "We'll be okay."

"This is all my fault, Durrell," Jennifer lamented. "You were right. I hate myself for setting this up… it's all my fault."

"No it's not," Durrell mentally chastised himself. _Remember to think before you talk next time. _"Jennifer, it was my idea in the first place and I could have said no at anytime. At least before I got in the car tonight."

"I'm sorry," Jennifer unfolded her arms to wrap them around his neck. "Will you ever be able to forgive me?"

"I already have," He assured her, softly caressing her back.

Seven minutes later, Durrell and Jennifer were sitting, huddled together on top of the Toyota's trunk. Jennifer's hands were clasped in her lap and she was gazing down at them; occasionally tapping the thumbs together in contemplation. One of Durrell's arms was draped around her shoulders protectively while he stared at the long stretch of barren road ahead of them. He could feel her shivering slightly, either from the cold or the evening's developments. Most likely both.

Unsurprisingly, Jennifer had ceased weeping shortly after he held her. She had far more reason to be upset, considering that she had known Damien for 11 years. That didn't stop her from regaining control of her emotions in time to spare Durrell extra grief. Although he would ordinarily relish in an opportunity to console her, the circumstances were too strenuous for him to do so adequately. Witnessing her break down wasn't something he was used to, and it unnerved him. With her at least outwardly back in control, his mind was free to think clearly.

"Who would do something like that?" She pondered aloud. "I thought maybe we were up against a rival gang earlier. But not even they would go that far."

"When Ben gets back it won't matter. We're going to find that van and leave here. I don't care what he says, I'm not coming back no matter what. He can shoot me if he wants to."

"It won't come to that. You take both of us home and then he's doing whatever he wants to. I wasn't going to let him touch you even if you didn't follow the van."

"How?"

"They know better, let's leave it at that," Jennifer grinned at him. When he laughed, which she hoped he would, she continued, "I personally think that if any of us in the gang had a chance to walk out without repercussions – we would walk. Same goes for Ben."

"What repercussions?"

"Lack of protection," She explained. "It's not one of those sour deals where your own crew will put one in the back of your head for leaving. They'll leave you alone. Literally. No matter how quiet you were when you were on the team, you attracted someone's attention. And the couple of people who left since I joined, were gunned down within a week."

"You think the same would happen to you?"

"Not really. I fooled you into thinking all of my income was from the clothing store. Only a handful of enemy gang members have heard my name. Less than that have actually seen me. I've been careful since I joined. Deep down inside, I knew that blaming my father for my bad decisions wouldn't hold up. He may have beaten the tar out of me… touched me in ways that repulsed me… but that's never an excuse for murder. You can't let someone else's evil turn you like that and I did. I promised myself that I would never be a victim again. That I would never be afraid of anyone or anything for as long as I lived. And that I would pay my Dad back for what he did to me. Do you know how many of the three I kept?"

"No idea."

"None. I never saw my Dad again because he moved across the country. And I never stopped being his victim by allowing him to dictate my life. It shows more control if you can run a person's existence without even physically being a part of it. He did that to me… and I let him. I preyed on an innocent person during my initiation. And I've hurt so many people that I can't count them all. Besides tonight, the worst memory I have is the night that I became a predator. The night I was a stalker, playing games with people who hadn't done a thing to me. And now, someone is doing that to us."

"Are you going to quit if we survive?" Durrell asked.

"If we live through the night…" Jennifer took a deep breath and slowly released the air. "I won't look back."

The words were promising. Jennifer never made such declarations unless she fully intended to fulfill them. Durrell would have enjoyed the moment immensely any other day. Tonight, it only brought a half-smile to his face. That was all he could muster through the apprehension seizing him. He suddenly had the disturbing sense that there were eyes glued to him from a hidden location. Knowing it was futile, he lifted his head and scanned the forest all around them. He couldn't see the eyes, or the person they belonged to, but he knew they were there.

It wasn't a simple stare. If that were the case then he would assume it was Ben. The evil behind the eyes was what startled him, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. The black forest alone returned his gaze, concealing the one he was searching for. _I know you're out there. I can feel it. _The man in the hat wasn't some crazed serial killer driving down highways at night. He was evil personified. And he was nearby enjoying the dread etched on the face of his prey; relishing in the odor of fear which permeated the air. Waiting. Watching.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Shouldn't we be seeing the van by now?" Ben asked, holding his hands up to amplify the question.

The other two didn't bother to respond. Twenty-five minutes of walking at a brisk pace hadn't led them to their desired location, yet. To Durrell, it seemed as if the van should have been in range already. Logic argued to the contrary that five minutes in the Toyota moving at a high speed, couldn't be equaled by less than half an hour of walking. It was also difficult to determine how many miles were covered in the brief escape attempt. _Almost funny, come to think of it. _The distance between the trio and the van so coveted a short while ago, had become a deadly disadvantage.

Then again, it wasn't as if the plan Ben had devised was logical in any way. There was no guarantee that the murderer would have allowed the van to remain abandoned all this time. He had somehow managed to follow the Toyota and dump Damien's body off without being spotted. Wondering how the killer had accomplished the feat wasn't helpful, and it merely added weight to the heavy ball in the pit of Durrell's stomach. He told himself that it was due to the dry heaving. It wasn't. He'd first felt it when sitting on the back of the car, sensing that someone was observing him. Even a mile or two away, it lingered.

_Might be my imagination. _True. _But that's unlikely. _ The forest blanketing the sides of the road was probably hiding more than he cared to know. Animals weren't really a problem. The wildlife in Erie County was generally tame. Foxes, deer, and an occasional bear were the main threats presented in the forests. Besides the car wrecks caused by deer, Durrell hadn't heard of any fatal encounters. It would be a pleasant surprise if one of the bears or deer had a run in with the man in the hat. Durrell grinned at the ridiculously optimistic idea.

A white glowing light slowly encompassed the environment and the three hikers. Massive clouds had parted overhead, allowing the full moon to peer through. The manmade lights were no comparison to the pale, bright, moonlight. It shone on the road ahead, providing far greater clarity than the streetlights. The majority of the bulbs were either flickering or had burned out.

Lifting her eyes to behold the perfectly round, luminous sphere, Jennifer blinked a few times, stunned by its brightness. "It's… beautiful."

Not usually the one to take the time to bother with such things, Durrell followed her gaze upwards. _She's right. _The moon was quite enchanting, a sharp contrast to the bleakness of the night sky it was suspended in. The clouds appeared to be receding from it, departing into the outer recesses of the heavens. It was an amazing sight, and he almost forgot what had happened tonight. Almost.

"Now's not the time to stop for moon gazing," Ben called over his shoulder, ten yards up the road.

Snapped back into reality, Durrell lowered his eyes to Jennifer, who was still awestruck. It was a getaway and one that they'd both eagerly taken. Anything to relieve the fear and the tension of being stalked. Her eyes weren't showing that they were in a life and death situation. She was experiencing a momentary relief or a sanctuary in the beauty of nature. Durrell didn't want to interrupt her, but she would thank him for it later – if they survived.

He reached over and took a hold of her nearest hand. She gingerly peeled her eyes off of the sky and turned to him. Durrell's breath caught in his throat as their eyes met with her head remaining tilted to the side. Some of her hair hung in the way, nevertheless the moonlight reflected brilliantly off of her face. The light brown eyes that had captivated Durrell from the day they met bore into him, clearly displayed in the light. He froze.

Instantly, Durrell found himself staring into the same eyes in a more comfortable setting. Several months ago, he and his longtime girlfriend had arranged to meet at Shiloh Park. Erie County was divided into two major sections. One was a rundown region festering with criminal activity and poverty. Gangs, especially the Hoods, were known to be in a constant war over the neighborhoods within. The other section was a quiet suburb with rancher-styled homes and promising young hopefuls. Anyone who was fortunate enough to drive through both areas immediately noticed the contrast. It was like night and day. Good and evil – in a sense.

Shiloh Park was an old establishment that had for years been Erie County's pride. Shiloh was a popular hangout spot for the teens and youthful couples, as well as a respite for the often busy working class folks. A grassy field bordered the park with swing sets and playgrounds constructed throughout. Children crowded them during the week and weekends, and today was no different. Running through the center of the land was a clear stream, beside which Adah's Tavern resided.

The tavern was an old-fashioned café with three-fourths of the benches set up outside the building. No one had complaints about the food served that catered to the seasons and holidays. The quick service was also praised by critics and unmatched by the chain restaurants. A number of people went to Shiloh Park for the sole purpose of sitting by the river or eating at the tavern. Durrell and his grandmother had visited often and were currently at the table nearest to the water of the stream. They waited as Jennifer made her way through the grass towards them, her eyes on the ground in front of her feet.

"She is more gorgeous each time I see her," Durrell's grandmother cooed.

Jennifer heard the compliment and grinned, hoping that the warm feeling on her cheeks wasn't due to a blush. "Hi, Grandma Darlene. Nice to see you again."

"Nice to see you too… come here, child," Grandma Darlene spread her arms and drew Jennifer's frail form into an embrace. "It's been too long."

"Yeah, it has," Jennifer acknowledged, returning the gesture with an awkward hug of her own. "How's your health?"

"I'm blessed by the Lord as always, I can't complain. You look sharp as ever."

"Thanks," Jennifer wished she was still hugging Grandma Darlene so that her reddening face would be out of view. "You look better than I do, as always."

"Oh, please," Darlene laughed. "I'll leave you two kids to yourselves for a while. I have to make a stop."

"You sure?" Durrell started to stand up, concerned. "Maybe I should drive…"

"We can take my car," Jennifer offered. "Go together if-"

"No, I'll be fine," Grandma Darlene shook her head and stepped past Jennifer. "I'm visiting an old friend, don't worry yourselves about me. I'll be back in half an hour."

Jennifer and Durrell watched her until she turned, caught their gazes, and 'shoed' them on. They laughed and Jennifer took a seat directly across from her boyfriend. Then, brushing the hair out of her face with a single hand she said, "Hi."

"Hey," Durrell nodded, smiling. "Thanks for agreeing to meet here. I thought you'd like it in case you hadn't come before. Grandma brought me all the time when I was younger."

"I've heard of it but it's my first time seeing the place," Jennifer scanned the park with a glance. "I like it. I just hope the food is as good as they say – my stomach is killing me."

"Let's go get some," Durrell began to stand up when Jennifer reached across the table to hold his wrist.

"Not yet."

"You sure?"

"Listen Durrell… I know how close you and your grandmother are," Jennifer paused, wanting to word herself adequately. "And even though you're out of school right now, I'm proud of you for wanting to make something of yourself. It's not too often that someone actually aspires to be a pastor at your age. You're awesome with helping people and before we dated you made me feel like I had _some_ worth. My friends really like you, too. The ones who've met you…"

"What's bothering you?"

"Can't you imagine the headlines when you do finally go to school and make it? 'Pastor of local church in a committed relationship with a member of the murderous, drug-pushing, Hoods gang.' I try to stay under the radar but as you tell me all the time, what's done in the dark will be dragged into the light eventually. And when that happens can you picture what that'll do to your career?"

"Jennifer, you…"

"And what about your grandmother? You're already worried that she's not able to take care of herself anymore. What happens when you can't find work because your reputation is tarnished? Or if the rival gangs decide to take a shot at you to hurt me and the Hoods? I can't let that happen."

"Nothing like that will…"

"Don't give me that! Families of gang members are either infamous for their relations or they're in hiding. You shouldn't have to resort to either of those lifestyles. Not for me. I'm not worth it."

"Do you decide that you're not worth it or do I?"

"Durrell," Jennifer's eyes were wet and her voice frantic. "I'm not talking like this because it's something I want. Although that's the way I was raised, I don't want to be selfish for once. I am thinking of you. I… I love you and I want to stay with you – you know that. But I can't allow you to get hurt on my behalf. Or have your career hindered. That wouldn't be fair to you."

"It also wouldn't be fair to me for you to make a decision without caring what I think," Durrell countered. "You haven't asked me-"

"It's for you that I-"

"Wait," Durrell cut her off. "Let me talk, okay? If you ask me, it's not fair to you have to be alone because of bad choices. And it's not fair to me if you try to distance yourself while I'm more than willing to stay with you. I didn't enter the relationship because you were in the gang, and I won't let it end because of that. I'm praying for you to get out of it every night and I'll continue to."

"It's a part of who I am. What if I never leave it?"

"Then I'll love you in spite of you," Durrell grinned. "Doesn't matter. And so will my grandmother."

"You told her about me?"

"No. Just that you were in a bad neighborhood. And if she did find out I can assure you she couldn't care less."

"Durrell, I don't deserve it. She's far too kind to me and you… you're the best thing to ever happen in my life. It's almost like a dream to be able to know you guys. It really is and I can't express to you how happy you've made me. But I'm a…"

Jennifer looked around to make sure no one was in earshot. Then she lowered her tone to a harsh whisper, "I'm a murderer. I've murdered a human being in cold blood. I don't like what I did and I wish I could take it back but the fact remains. I'm a murderer. And one day the police will find out and lock me up or a rival will catch on and shoot me to pieces. It's impossible to live like me without paying for it one way or another. Get away while you can. If you don't let me go right now you might not have a chance in the future. I mean it. I'll kill you myself if you try to leave me later…"

Durrell smiled and Jennifer laughed, sadly. He extended his arms over the table and took her hands in his own. "We met at church that day and when I told you that I'd like to get to know you better, you warned me that you were trouble from the beginning. I said 'I'll take my chances' then and I meant it. That's still my position and I'm not budging."

"You're a fool," Jennifer glared at him.

"Maybe," Durrell rose, moving around to table to settle beside her. "But I'm not going anywhere if I can help it."

"Thank you," Jennifer said, tilting her head to one side. Although her hair fell into her face, her eyes remained in view and were as beautiful as ever. Durrell stared, lost in the irises, enamored with the soul looking out through them.

"The van!" Ben exclaimed in a hushed whisper.

Shaking his head, Durrell returned to the far less desirable present. Ben was standing twelve feet ahead with an AK-47 in both hands; using one to point at an object in the middle of the read. _Some daydream._ Jennifer's _dreamy_ eyes had captured his attention and taken him back to Shiloh Park two months ago. She had admitted to him a week prior to that poignant afternoon that she was a part of the Hoods. Later she confessed that she was positive the relationship would end soon after. Durrell hadn't for a second considered that option.

"What?" Durrell narrowed his eyes.

A white object in the distance was idling in the center of the road. The distinct outline of the van became visible after a few hurried paces forward. Durrell, Jennifer, and Ben identified it at the same time and breathed a collective sigh of relief. The odds of the vehicle being in the same exact spot had been slim to none. A miracle or a rare turn of events had occurred, however, and it was still there. Their hopes of exiting the Erie County Forest alive were not yet crushed as they'd feared.

"Finally something goes right tonight," Durrell said.

"Time to get out of here and never look back," Jennifer exchanged a smile of victory with him.

The trio started jogging towards the van and stopped a minute later when a tall figure emerged from the woods. _It's him. _The man in the hat and coat stepped out of the shadows blanketing the left side of the road. He seemed to have materialized from the darkness itself like a spirit or ghost. Long white hair and the hem of his brown trench coat whisked in the air behind him, blown by a steady breeze. His boots _thudded_ on the pavement under his feet; the loud sound reverberating throughout the forest and the bodies of his observers. Slumped over his shoulder was another body wrapped and roped in a white sheet. The large corpse didn't encumber his speed at all as he walked towards the van.

Somehow he hadn't heard or seen the approach of the three and showed no interest in them. Or at least he was pretending he hadn't noticed. The man reached up with his free hand to grasp one of the two handles to the backdoors of the vehicle. He yanked the door open and pushed it as far to the side as it would go. Then he leaned forward and guided the body off of his shoulder and into the vacant doorway.

"Should we hide?" Jennifer asked, quietly.

"No," Ben replied, creeping towards the van. "We let him take that van and we're stuck out here. Then he can come back anytime he darn well pleases and pick us off. Not happening that way."

"What are we going to do?"

"We have the guns," Ben held one of the AK's in front of Durrell chest.

The man in the hat and coat boldly spun in their direction and paused. His hat was tilted forward in a position that covered the top half of his face. The bottom was obscured by the shadow cast from the wide brim. His oddly proportioned white hair shone behind his shoulders. _An old man? Maybe we can take him on. _Unless the hair was a wig he had to be older. Physically fit, perhaps, but vulnerable like any man. There was something in his stance, though, that sucked the confidence out of Durrell's chest.

Two AK-47s, effective automatic weapons, and a pistol wielded by Jennifer were plenty to contend with. Three guns and three able-bodied young persons versus one seemingly unarmed man would ordinarily constitute as no contest. Ben, Durrell, and Jennifer had the advantage and the mystery man was aware of that. He was in range to see the weapons clearly in the poor lighting. Unless he was insane he had to realize that a steady stream of bullets from an AK would demolish him. _He should be on his face begging for mercy. _He wasn't. The man watched them, unmoving.

"Take the gun," Ben pressed it against Durrell's chest. "First he kills my cousin, and then he stares me down like he's crazy. Let's kill him."

Durrell and Ben raised the AK-47s to their hips, preparing to fire. Jennifer drew the pistol out of her jeans and took aim, holding the weapon in two wobbly hands. One of the three had never pulled a trigger before and never truly intended to. The opportunity to kill the man standing between them and the van had arisen earlier. Had Durrell been adamant then, they might not be in the existing chaos. His conscience refused to allow him to put his whole heart into murder. Now if he tightened his grip on the trigger, it would be out of self preservation. To save his life and the life of his girlfriend.

_So do it. _The roles were reversed for the second time in that night. Durrell and his companions had set out as the hunters, pursuing the van driver for miles. The initiate never would have killed him regardless of how the chase finished. His plan was to shoot Ben instead if that's what was necessary to avoid spilling innocent blood. Then the tables turned and the grisly nature of the cloaked man caused the trio to flee. Finally, the ball was in their court and they weren't shooting. Weaponless and alone, the figure under the hat paralyzed them with his defiance. He stretched an arm behind himself and shoved the van door closed.

"Shoot him!" Jennifer called out.

No one did.

The man in the hat suddenly stepped forward, heading straight for them with quick paces. Aghast at the audacity of the stalker, Ben and Durrell retreated to maintain the distance. Jennifer stood her ground and closed one eye for clarity, putting the man in her estimated crosshairs. She fired twice.

One bullet hit the van and she wasn't sure if the second made contact or not. The man didn't seem at all effected by it if he had been hit. _Missed, then. _He continued to march onward, not missing a beat. Then he turned and moved towards the left side of the road from which he had come. Ben snapped out of his stupor and opened fire, rushing towards his prey. He would have helped Jennifer but feared hitting the van and sabotaging the only escape method. Now he let loose and sprayed the forest with bullets, aiming at the spot where the man had vanished.

"You're not getting away!" Ben ran as fast as he could, charging into the woods with his gun emitting bullet after bullet.

"Let's get to the van," Jennifer urged, hooking Durrell's bicep in the crook of her elbow and dragging him forward. "While we have the chance."

"What about Ben?" Durrell asked. He motioned towards the forest. White flashes from the gunfire let them know exactly where Ben was. "Are we going to just leave him?"

"We didn't come all the way back to kill that nut! We're supposed to be getting out of here while we have a chance. Let's go!"

"Wait in the van for me," Durrell replied, his eyes on the forest. "IF you hear anything… or if we're not out in two minutes, take off. I mean it."

"Durrell, I am not losing you because of Ben," Jennifer released his arm and punched him in the shoulder, the desperation in her eyes growing. "Come on! Please?"

The gunfire instantly ceased, leaving Durrell and Jennifer in a startling silence. Their widened eyes met as they strained their ears, trying to hear some clue as to what had happened. Ben had been shooting like a madman. Maybe he had run out of bullets. Durrell took a cautious step towards the forest with his gun aimed straight ahead.

He wanted to heed his girlfriend's counsel to leave without Ben. The van was less than fifteen yards up the road and the running engine was audible. It would be as simple as climbing into the vehicle and driving away. Ignoring the bloodied and probably fresh corpses in the back wouldn't be too difficult considering what they were escaping from. _So do it. Leave._ His eyes lowered to the weapon in his hands. If something had happened to Ben he would be forced to use it to defend himself. If not, then Ben would be likely to compel him to assist in killing the man. _Jennifer's right. We weren't supposed to be chasing after that guy. That wasn't part of the plan._

Not content to leave without alarming Ben in case he was still alive, Durrell yelled, "Ben, are you alright?!

No response.

Ben barely heard the frightened voices of his cohorts calling his name from the road. They were practically drowned out by the forest's ample trees and plant life. He couldn't have moved more than fifty feet into the woods in the short amount of time he'd charged in. It was somehow far enough to distort the loud voices and keep him from centering in on them. Unfortunately, the light of the moon wasn't of any help beyond the road. Towering, bare, grayish trees, in appearance like the skeletons of large prehistoric animals, lumbered overhead and blocked out the moon's radiance. Ben had no idea where he was. The forest had closed in on him the moment he entered and now he was trapped.

Currently, Ben was sitting on the ground with his back pressed against a tree trunk. The AK-47 laid abandoned in the grass a yard past his feet. He wasn't concerned with bringing additional ammo for it when he left home that evening. There hadn't been any reason to in his opinion. Two pistols and two automatic weapons contained a sufficient amount of bullets to deal with the normal initiation assignment. On any other day he would have thought the number of guns was overkill. Not tonight.

The man in the hat and coat was twenty-five feet in advance when the darkness of the forest swallowed him alive. That was a full sixty seconds ago and Ben hadn't seen or heard any indication as to where he had gone since. The behavior of the man was too erratic to accurately judge what he was up to. A few of the bullets might have connected. The man could be lying in the grass bleeding to death for all Ben knew. Or, he could be waiting for his prey to make the first move. _Or he ran off… who knows?_

The only thing Ben was positive of, was that the man had cut Damien open and sowed him back together. He didn't carry any weapons visibly on his person. God only knew what was concealed inside of the coat, though. He could have had an arsenal of deadly tools and instruments tucked away in there. One of them, perhaps, with Ben's name on it.

Grimacing, he stole another look at the forest around him. Darkness and the surreal appearance of the trees stared back at him. Some of the trees were leaning to one side or the other, which further obstructed his view. If he had some idea of where he was, he would make a run for it. The forest itself seemed to be intentionally barring him from finding out. Yelling might have helped Durrell and Jennifer trace his position. And it would also almost certainly lead the man in the hat right to him. _Not an option. But I've got to do something._

A sniffing sound interrupted the quiet from the shadows around him. Three quick, ragged, intakes of air into what sounded like nostrils. They were obnoxiously noisy. Not the type of racket a man attempting to sneak up on him would intentionally make. There was a desperation in the breathing itself, as if someone or something was fighting for air. Ben started to feel relieved, thinking that he _had _hit the man with a bullet or two after all. Maybe he was injured… dying.

The sniffing came again and was followed by a strange, rough, snort. _What the hell? _A wave of fear swept over Ben as he sat, holding his own breath in shock. He'd heard the disturbing sound of lungs struggling to take oxygen in after fatal injuries. On one occasion, he was present when the throat of a young man was slit. The sight was nowhere near as sickening as the sound emitted by his torn larynx. That wasn't remotely similar to what Ben was listening to now. The snorts alone were otherworldly and harsh. It resounded through his body, causing his hairs to stand on end.

Curious, and hoping to calm his rapid imagination, Ben slid his shoulders to the left where the noise seemed to be emanating from. His back dragged along the bark as he lowered his torso to the earth. Instinctively, he paused to listen for a change in the breathing pattern signifying that his movement was observed. It continued, growing more restless with each inhalation. Ben rolled onto his stomach while bringing the pistol up beside his head. Then he waited for his eyes to adjust to the new viewpoint. Once they did, a stronger jolt of fear struck his heart.

The man in the coat was standing twenty feet behind the tree Ben was leaning against. Despite the dark colors he wore, his menacing silhouette managed to stand out in the murkiness of the forest. His hands were down at his sides, one of them tightly clutching the wide-brimmed hat. The absence of the covering revealed the bald crown of a large head, tilted backwards. Long, curly, white hair hung from the back of his head, mostly hidden by broad shoulders. _What is he doing?_

The head of the man slanted back further as he sniffed ferociously at the air. His body began jerking, seemingly in cadence with his breathing. The noise resembled the cooing of pigeons, only several pitches higher and distorted. At the end of each "coo" the man snorted while exhaling, his body lowering in rhythm. It was unlike anything Ben had heard or seen before. He wanted to believe that the man was seriously hurt but doubted it. His feet were firmly planted in the ground, holding his balance steady while he jerked up and down.

The man wasn't hurt. He was either completely insane or something else was going on that Ben was alien to. His heart now pounded heavily in its ribcage, hurting his chest with each pump. The beat was deafening in his ears, like repeated explosions going off within him. _Loud enough for him to hear it? _The thought was ridiculous but Ben's own sanity was fading as he watched, engrossed.

A guttural growl escaped the man's lips and he dropped his head, staring directly at Ben, whose heart leapt up into his throat. He rushed up to his feet while lifting the gun into view, fighting through his fear to take aim. The man stepped forward…

BANG! BANG! BANG! "AAAAAAAAGH!"

Durrell ducked his head at the shrill scream of terror. He recognized the voice as Ben's instantly and looked up at Jennifer, seeing the panic he felt perfectly displayed on her face. They were standing on the road where Ben had entered the forest. He didn't want to leave until he was sure that the gang leader wouldn't return. The scream was as much confirmation as necessary.

"Let's go," Durrell turned and ran, using his free hand to steer Jennifer ahead of him.

She raced towards the van as quickly as her trembling legs would carry her. The fifteen yards seemed to turn into thirty and her legs were suddenly rubbery. Blocking out her senses, Jennifer trudged on until the couple reached the vehicle. She shuffled around to the passenger's side. Durrell nodded and pulled open the driver's door while turning to see if they were being followed.

Standing tall on the edge of the road was the cloaked figure. His bald head was briefly exposed, and something was not quite right about the shape. Despite the absence of the old-fashioned hat, now in his right hand, his face remained veiled by the shadows of the trees overhead. Durrell examined the man's body for any signs that Ben's assault had succeeded. There were none. His coat was void of rips, tears, or blood. It became further apparent that he was unharmed when the man put on and adjusted his hat – and strode in their direction.

_Shoot him. _Durrell's hand ached to aim the gun at the man and shoot him while he was in the open. A steady stream of bullets from the AK-47 would end the pursuit in a matter of seconds. Hesitantly, Durrell brought the muzzle of the weapon towards the man's chest.

"Durrell, let's go!" Jennifer screamed.

Durrell couldn't pull the trigger, anyway. He had miraculously avoided committing murder thus far. _Why start now when we can just leave? _Turning, he threw the gun on the floor and leapt up into the van. Sitting in the driver's seat, and wincing when a liquid soiled the seat of his pants, he slammed the door shut behind him. Jennifer was already in her chair, dragging the seatbelt across her torso to snap the buckle into its socket. Durrell gripped the steering wheel and stomped down on the gas pedal. The van's wheels spun wildly on the pavement before projecting the vehicle forward. He watched the speedometer rise steadily from 10 miles per hour to 45 as he accelerated. The more distance between the van and the man in the hat the better.

"You've got to be kidding me," Jennifer whispered.

Glancing to his side, Durrell saw that she was peering through the back windows of the van, her eyes wide. He couldn't risk taking his focus off of the road to use the same method so he turned to the left, and searched the rearview mirror to find what she had reacted to. Five seconds were needed for his eyes to attune to the darkness of the road. When they did he blinked several times, not believing what the mirror reflected.

He'd expected to see their adversary as a distant speck shrinking away into the night. Instead, the man was less than forty yards to the rear, dashing after the van on foot. _No way. _His legs were kicking with such swiftness that they were barely visible. There was almost a blur below his waist and his feet had the appearance of floating over the pavement. Durrell's lone insurance that he wasn't floating was that he could hear the slamming of heavy boots on the ground.

"What the hell?" Durrell turned forward to the speedometer. 65 rolling up to 70 miles per hour. "How is he…"

Putting more weight on the gas pedal, Durrell looked to the mirror again. The man wasn't fading at all into the background. His legs pumped with fervor as his arms worked to keep up with them. Increased speed hadn't made a remote difference. The "man" was thirty feet behind and drawing nearer with every passing second. No one could run as fast as a vehicle at this speed. Not a _human._ A fluttering from within his chest indicated the terror mounting in his heart. _Not a human._

It finally occurred to him that whoever the figure in the hat was, he wasn't an ordinary human being. And he obviously was far from the old man that his white hair belied. He had followed the Toyota a couple of miles without the aide of the van and stayed in close proximity. By some means he had run into the forest with Ben firing an automatic weapon – and escaped unscathed. _If he's not a human, then what is he?_

Maybe a demon sent to torment him for betraying his conscience and agreeing to take an innocent life. He was well aware of a spiritual world that co-existed with the material. He believed that everything that happened in the visible realm was either a direct cause of a spiritual influence, or resulted in one. It made sense that God would allow him to come into contact with an evil unlike any he imagined possible. Durrell had traveled on the same road and never encountered the van or the _thing_ in the hat. Tonight, he was here and rightly facing the consequences of his actions.

"Durrell, do something!" Jennifer slapped his arm frantically.

She was keeping an eye on the cloaked figure through the windows on the backdoors of the van. The hat of the man was in clear view and coming too close for her comfort. Durrell was no longer able to see him through the rearview mirror which meant that he was within a few feet. The vehicle was already streaming ahead at eighty miles per hour. Any faster and Durrell would be in danger of losing control of the van. He'd never driven a large vehicle and wasn't having an easy time with it now. _If I don't slow him down somehow, then what will he do to us?_ If it was some type of a demon then he didn't want to know what evils it would subject them to.

One of the backdoors of the van opened and Jennifer screamed. Durrell whirled around also, swearing. The man in the hat held onto the handle while running hard to maintain his speed. He was carefully opening the door to evade being hindered by the nonuse of his arm. Once it was wide enough for his body to be in view, he grinned at the couple, showing a mouth filled with razor sharp teeth. Jennifer screamed again and grabbed her boyfriend's arm.

Durrell turned the wheel and swerved to the left but the demon's hold on the door kept it from losing ground. The sudden motion sent two of the dead bodies wrapped in white sheets sliding towards the rear of the van. They fell out and crashed into the legs of their murderer. An unearthly wail cut through Durrell's skull like a hot knife as the demon's grip on the door handle was torn free. He stumbled and fell over the corpses. His own form rolled violently across the asphalt as the momentum he'd built up carried him.

"Thank God," Durrell breathed a sigh of relief and turned to face the road, closing his eyes to calm his nerves.

Jennifer continued to observe the demon through the still open backdoor. He had climbed up to his feet by now and was staggering forward, dazed. A fall like that would kill a human instantly but Jennifer had learned that they were dealing with something else. Reaching into his coat with a single hand, the demon extracted a long, narrow object. Then he stretched his arm above his head and thrust it ahead of himself, straight towards the van. Whatever it was glistened in the light as it cut through the air.

"Look out!" Jennifer warned, throwing herself against the door beside her.

Durrell cried out in anguish as something sliced through the flesh of his right arm and became embedded in the dashboard. He temporarily took his left hand off of the steering wheel to clamp it over the wound. Blood came seeping out, pouring through his fingers and down his arm onto the floor. The thick liquid pressed on his palm, demanding to exit through the cavity. He gritted his teeth to fight the pain and took hold of the wheel again, leaving his right arm down at his side.

Although horrified and sobbing, Jennifer had the presence of mind to whip off her jacket and crumple it into a ball. The concentrated bleeding would kill Durrell within a matter of minutes without a deterrent. Once the jacket was solid, she placed it on Durrell's arm and applied pressure. He gnashed his teeth bitterly. As unbearable as the pain was he knew the bleeding needed to be stopped.

"Thanks."

Jennifer nodded, too traumatized to speak. Then she lowered her gaze to the dashboard where the thrown weapon had landed. It was an unusually large knife or short sword; roughly sixteen inches from the back of the hilt down to the part of the blade in sight. An inch or two were buried inside the dashboard. Blood covered and dripped from the strange, grayish blade. A slender gargoyle-like figure with wings had been carved out of the black handle. The demonic creature's wings were molded tightly behind its back, presumably so that wouldn't they obstruct the handling of the object.

Reminded of the cloaked thing that had hurled the weapon, Jennifer glanced over her shoulder. The road behind them was clear. The demon apparently hadn't decided to pursue them for the time being. Hopefully the stumble and fall had hurt it well enough to keep it off of their trail. Content with that explanation, and not wanting to consider another, Jennifer turned to the path before them.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

All of Jennifer's senses were assaulted upon her return to consciousness. She was first greeted by a black sea with dull lights swimming through the mass. Her peripheral vision was clouded with the same mucky material. Six seconds of reasoning told her that she was either blind or staring at the back of her eyelids. Fear of the former kept her from opening her eyes immediately. Unfortunately, closing her ears off wasn't an option. Consequently there was no defense against the annoyingly loud, monotonous, ringing that threatened to drive her insane. It was coming from everywhere at once and seemingly from inside of her head; a familiar sound that continued relentlessly.

Jennifer's only reprieve was pain, which allowed her to consider something other than the noise. The right side of her neck and her right shoulder were cramped worse than when she fell asleep in awkward positions. Becoming aware of her surroundings, she realized that at least half of her bodyweight was concentrated on the two fragile areas. One reason her head was spinning was likely because she was upside down. _What happened?_

A foul, festering odor added to Jennifer's discomfort. She was breathing heavily and sucking in the repulsive air in the process. The inside of her nostrils burned upon inhaling what smelled like decaying, rotten meat. Wrinkling her nose, Jennifer decided that it was time to see what was happening although she had an idea. She was inside of the van. That much was obvious. The smell hadn't affected her during the chase due to her mind being occupied with survival. Now, it threatened to make her pay by attacking with its full thrust.

Resisting the urge to puke, Jennifer forced her eyes open. Her eyelids struggled to remain closed for a second but her will overpowered them. Darkness. _Let your eyes adjust. It's probably still night time. _Following her own directions, she waited patiently while the darkness took on shapes and sizes. Then a light appeared from a source to the left - out of her view, exposing the environment. As she expected, she was inside of the van, only it was turned on its right side. She was lying on her shoulder and neck against the passenger's door with her seatbelt supporting some of her weight. _Ouch!_ The rest was held up parts of the anatomy not intended to bear anything near her full weight.

Neck injuries were nothing to play with. Jennifer brought her left arm down and placed her hand on the door. She pushed with what little strength she had and lifted her torso enough to take the pressure off of her neck. Then she lowered her right elbow and used it to guide herself over onto her back. The seatbelt clung to her hips, refusing to let her go without a fight. Annoyed, Jennifer reached up and clicked the button to release the buckle. Freed, she dropped on the door fully, landing on both shoulders. _Better than my neck. Sort of._

The light she'd seen earlier was from the moon, now directly above her head. The illuminated sphere in the sky shined on her through the driver's door window. Clouds drifted nearby, indicating that the brightness the moon provided wouldn't last forever. Jennifer looked down to her right to see a heap of humanity stretched across the bottom of the empty window space. Her recognition of the form jolted her with a second wind. She discounted the aches in her neck and shoulder to roll around until she was on her knees. From there she saw that it was Durrell, unconscious. His back rose and declined slowly. He was breathing, albeit shallowly.

"Durrell."

No answer.

"Durrell!" Jennifer yelled, hoping to awaken him. He'd lost a lot of blood so that task was a tall order. The dim lighting showed that the liquid had splashed onto the hood of the van. Jennifer's hands were wet as well. The blood had leaked right through the jacket onto her skin. _He's lost way too much. _If the bleeding wasn't stopped efficiently, and soon, he wouldn't live through the night. He'd be dead and beyond resuscitation. There was no way Jennifer was going to permit that to happen.

"No, Durrell," She crawled forward until she was in a position to examine his body. He was lying on his left side which exposed the injured arm. Although the bleeding had noticeably slowed he couldn't risk losing more. Not without death or long term damages. Jennifer rarely carried a watch so she had no means of knowing how long it had been since the crash. The chances were that he had lost a fatal quantity minutes ago.

Turning around, Jennifer searched the inside of the van for the jacket. A brief scan of the area where the front seats were was fruitless. The knife that had pierced Durrell's arm remained embedded in the dashboard. Averting her eyes from the creepy weapon, she peered into the back of the van. The corpses, with the exception of one hanging out of the open backdoor, were missing. In their place were tools and sharp, bizarre weapons like the blade. They'd fallen from the walls and ceiling along with seven fresh, folded, white sheets.

Relieved, Jennifer separated one of the sheets and unfolded it. Spread out fully in front of her, it was close to the dimensions of a queen sized bed: six and a half feet by five feet. She had a queen bed at home that she was dying to spend 8 hours with later. _Stay focused. The faster you get through this the faster you get home. _Nodding to herself, she measured roughly five inches from the top of the longhand side. When satisfied with the distance she firmly clasped the thin cotton fabric with her left hand. Then she made a quick second estimate and used her stronger hand to tear the sheet in as straight a line as possible. It tore the full five feet across without causing her additional strain.

Jennifer returned to her boyfriend and gently slipped one end of the torn sheet underneath his left arm. She dragged it through until the sheet was about even on both sides of his limb. The white sheet had already been defiled with a red stain. It was a miracle that he was breathing despite the blood being _everywhere._ Jennifer wrapped the sheet around his arm twice, as tightly as she believed necessary to control the blood loss. Following the second layering, she tied the ends together to form an effective tourniquet. That would do for now.

"Durrell!" Jennifer shook his torso roughly, trying to rouse him out of his sleep. "Durrell wake up!

He didn't respond.

"I got you into this, I'm getting you out of it alive," Jennifer said.

Rising, she clambered over his body, groaning when her knee landed on his outstretched right hand. There was no response from him verbally or physically. He was out of it. Massive blood loss could result in a coma. _Don't think like that. He'll be fine. _Jennifer assured herself that Durrell was just unconscious and nothing more. That's what she had to think to refrain from breaking down and failing them both. _He's fine._

Outside the wreck of the van she tilted her head backwards and took a deep breath. The cramps in her neck and shoulder couldn't restrict her enjoyment of the fresh air. The feel of a cool breeze on the skin of her face was a welcome reprieve. Inside of the van had been an intense, putrid, and oppressive environment. Added to that was nausea spurred by the sinking suspicion that dozens, maybe hundreds, of people had been stored in the back of the vehicle over time. The oppression lifted the moment she stepped into the night and she reveled in the freedom.

Lowering her head, Jennifer surveyed their location. The road stretched on seemingly forever in either direction. Alone, the van's position was not an appropriate indication of which way they'd been headed. She didn't remember the slightest detail of the crash or the immediate events leading up to it. Therefore, relying on the direction of the van would discount the possibility that it had flipped or spun around prior to stopping. Fortunately, the objects laid out on the surface of the road twenty feet away were telling. The overturned van was between Jennifer and the corpses wrapped in white sheets. They had fallen out of the open backdoor _behind_ the vehicle.

The man, or demon, in the hat had yanked that door open. _Time to go._ Every second counted. Outrunning their foe wasn't plausible after witnessing his speed. They had to stay far ahead.

Jennifer breathed deeply again and looked to the pitiable form of her boyfriend. She crouched at his head and hauled him up into a sitting posture. Then she turned, aligning her back with his, and moved her arms in a full, counterclockwise circle, hooking Durrell's arms in the process. _One. Two. Thr- _The muscles throughout her body tensed as she straightened her legs and stood on her feet.

The full 155 pounds of her boyfriend's muscular mass settled on her shoulders and upper back. Picking him up in the midst of playful wrestling was no comparison. He always jumped to make it easier for her to scoop him off of his feet. Now she was supporting the brunt of his weight unassisted. It was too much. _Have to do it. You can handle this, girl. _Jennifer widened her stance to spread the impact and include her legs in the procedure. That seemed to alleviate the stress. _Keep moving. The longer you stand here complaining about his weight, the heavier he'll get._

Three awkward but successful steps forward boosted Jennifer's confidence. Her legs quivered under the heavy burden and her biceps ached. Still, she was emboldened by the knowledge that she could handle the task. In that potency, she readjusted her grip with her forearms and trudged ahead. Durrell's heels dragged smoothly on the asphalt instead of stalling to hinder her progress. There was one thing working in her favor. That and her thin frame was somehow managing to hold up while bearing a grown man on her back. She was completely aware of his weight without being overwhelmed by it.

_Where am I going?_ Route 130 was miles away in the opposite direction. Jennifer had never taken the exit that the van used. She didn't even know it existed before tonight. Countless miles could be waiting before signs of civilization appeared. Erie County was bordered by rural towns and farmland with endless stretches of road. Gas stations, convenience stores, and sleazy motels that proliferated in busier cities were rare. _You're better off not getting your hopes up by expecting one of those to pop up._

Police sometimes parked their patrol cars in the grass next to streets late at night – plotting to catch speeders who thought the law didn't apply to them when authorities weren't nearby. _Tonight is the first time in years I'd be happy to run into a cop. _Jennifer grinned and continued to trudge onward. Unknown or not, as long as the road led away from the demon, she was content.

….

"Durrell, wake up!" Jennifer screamed.

He heard her voice and the urgency in the tone. Yet he couldn't muster the energy to feel any of her fear or panic. Worrying was a waste of strength and that was something he was running low enough on. What little he had, needed to be focused on hands, which were squeezing the life out of the steering wheel. If he wasn't careful the white of the inside of his hands would turn the black color of the rest of his skin due to bruising. The thick plastic of the wheel dug into his flesh. The lone positive was that the new pain distracted him from the wound on his arm. So with the knowledge that his consciousness depended on it, he embraced the throbbing pain in his hands.

"You're going to kill us, Durrell!" Jennifer complained again, tapping him frantically on the shoulder with one hand. He was vaguely aware that her other hand was pressing her bundled jacket against his wound. "Come on!"

White began forming on the edges of his vision and the road morphed into a blurred mass. Through the distortion he saw that the van was headed for the side of the road. The thick trunk of a tree waited thirty yards ahead in the path of the raging vehicle. He imagined the front of the van enclosing around the tree, crushing he and Jennifer in an instant. _Can't… can't let that happen._

"DURRELLLL!" Jennifer cried out, giving up on tapping him to shield her face.

He had the presence of mind to wrench the wheel to the right as the tree neared. The van wasn't able to comply with his sudden command and it went up on its right-side wheels attempting to. Jennifer was still screaming when Durrell was launched out of his seat and…

BOOM! Durrell sat up, gasping for air, heart racing.

_Where? What happened? _The visuals of the tree, the road, and the inside of the van remained in his head even as he realized that his setting had changed. He blinked several times while the former disintegrated. Encompassing him on all sides were white walls and a matching ceiling overhead lined with fluorescent lights. Underneath him was a soft, comfortable bed with white sheets strewn over it. _I've had enough of white sheets for the day._ The floor around the bed was decorated with light blue and grey tiles. A closed door stood opposite him on the far side of the room.

If not for the colored floor he would have thought he was in a home for the mentally impaired. Or heaven. The last he remembered he was a heartbeat away from being ejected from a van. He would almost consider death a welcome relief in the face of what he'd gone through. Considering, though, that he'd spent the last hour evading a demon dressed up like a man… a mental institution made more sense. _A white room would drive most people crazier, not be therapeutic._ Durrell smirked and basked in the simple pleasure of having time to ponder such pointless thoughts.

"My son, if sinners entice you, do not consent."

The voice of an elderly woman spoke beside him. _Maybe I am crazy and in an institution. Or heaven._ Durrell laughed to himself, assuming he was hearing things.

"If they say, 'Come with us, let us lie in wait to shed blood; let us lurk secretly for the innocent without cause; let us swallow them alive like Sheol, and whole like those who go down to the pit. We shall find all kinds of precious possessions; we shall fill our houses with spoil. Cast in your lot among us, let us all have one purse…'"

"Durrell, you don't have to do this," Jennifer said.

"There's not much else I _can_ do, Jennifer," Durrell replied, sighing. He was sitting in his bedroom at home on the telephone. Posters of his favorite professional wrestlers covered half of the walls. Choice Bible verses printed out on plain paper or typed across beautiful scenery occupied the rest of the free space. "We have $150 out of a $600 payment required next week. I talked to the landlord and he told me there were two prospective customers interested in the apartment. And they are willing to put up $800 a month to persuade him."

"Can he legally do that?" Jennifer asked. "Just sell your apartment out from underneath you?"

"The lease specifically states that all payments must be made on time. My grandmother won't be receiving another check for two weeks and that one will be less than her last. I am not going to allow her to spend a minute on the streets, homeless. She raised and supported me all of these years without asking for anything in return. I can't let this happen to her."

"Can you kill?"

"What?"

"Can you kill, Durrell? Ben will supply the money you need IF you are willing to pay the price of your innocence."

"What does that mean?"

"He doesn't want to risk you leaving the gang and exposing him later," Jennifer told him. "I tried to explain that you wouldn't do that but he refused to listen. I'm respected by the leaders but my authority only goes so far. I can't help you."

"He wants me to… kill someone?" Durrell lowered his eyes to his hand.

"Yes, that's how initiations are usually done."

"I…I…" Durrell stammered. On the door of his bedroom was a poster featuring the Ten Commandments. The sixth one, _you shall not murder_, seemed to leap from the paper at him. He had decided to date Jennifer and deal with the unavoidable backlash he would receive from being affiliated with a gang member. Some would despise him, but he was sure his grandmother would support their relationship. Spilling blood, though… how could he betray his grandmother and His God by going that far? _Then again, where have You been since we needed You?_

"Yes, I'm willing."

Silence from the other end.

"Are you angry?"

"Disappointed? Yes. Angry – not really. I'm disgusted that _you_ would resort to murder for money."

"Disgusted? When did you become the model for moral behavior? You had to do the same thing, didn't you?"

"You're right. I have no excuses. The difference between you and me is that I've lived like this most of my life. And I joined the Hoods for protection, not money. You're supposed to be a man of God, aren't you?"

"Hey, I'm not doing this to add to a collection of baseball cards! Grandma will not last more than a few days out on the streets. I can't sit by and let it go down like that. What else can I do?"

"I'll stand by you no matter what you decide whether I agree or not," Jennifer responded. "I'm just a little stunned because you were my sole motivation for wanting to live a normal life in the future. I admired you as a man who stuck by his convictions. You've never pressured me to leave the gang but out of appreciation for your kindness I wanted to. Seeing the type of man that you were…"

The old woman's voice returned and Durrell was back inside of the white room.

"My son, do not walk in the way with them, keep your foot from their path; for their feet run to evil, and they make haste to shed blood. But they lie in wait for their own blood, they lurk secretly for their own lives. So are the ways of everyone who is greedy for gain; it takes away the life of its owners."

In a chair pulled up beside the bed sat Durrell's grandmother. She was a petite lady and the massive book she held, reading aloud, covered her face and neck. Having known her for 21 years, Durrell didn't need to see the face to identify her. The voice, the black dress ornamented with white flowers, and an identical wide-brimmed hat were all he needed. A smile crossed his lips as he listened to her reading animatedly out of the book.

"Wisdom calls aloud outside; she raises her voice in the open squares," Grandma raised an eyebrow and peered over the top of the book to see her grandson sitting up and awake. "Good morning sleepy head."

"Hi grandma," Durrell said, tentatively. The window in the wall behind her displayed a darkened sky. "It's morning?"

"4:35 a.m.," Grandma overturned her wrist and glanced at a watch there. "This brings back memories, doesn't it?"

"Where are we?"

"When you were a little boy you were always falling and hurting yourself or getting into trouble. You drove me crazy. And when I watched you like a hawk you managed to get sick. I always stayed with you when the doctors wanted to keep you overnight, reading from the Good Book until you fell asleep. That was when you were still little enough for old Grandma to read to you."

"Hospital? Where's Jennifer?"

"In room thirty-two five doors that way," Grandma gestured to the left of the door. "Besides being worried sick about you she's fine, son. We thought we were going to lose you the way the doctors were talking. You two arrived just in time for them to start the blood transfusions to save your life. If you had lost anymore blood you would have been beyond help."

"Grandma, I'm sorry…"

"For what?"

"I've been an idiot," Tears began rolling down Durrell's cheeks as her averted his eyes from her, too ashamed to maintain eye contact. "I should have trusted in God, I know. I was going to do something horrible. It was for you, but…"

"Son," Grandma stood, placing the book on the chair, and put her hands on his shoulders. "Jennifer told me everything. I am surprised that you went as far as you did but I know your intentions were good. What you did was _stupid_, yes. But I know your heart. And you should know mine. I would rather be poor living on the streets than have my grandson in a gang murdering innocent people."

"I know, Grandma," Durrell allowed himself to be pulled into a comforting embrace.

"Don't you worry about a thing," Grandma rubbed his back. "The doctors are looking for a replacement for what you lost out there. They say you'll be just fine."

"What I lost?" Durrell leaned away. "What did I lose?"

Grandma didn't reply. Her lips were quivering and her eyes saddened. She lifted an index finger and pointed at Durrell's torso. "You don't know…"

He had not felt even a tinge of pain or discomfort prior to the present moment. The cut on his arm was bandaged and he would have forgotten about the injury otherwise. The hospital might have administered pain medication while he was unconscious. What had occurred, though, to drive them to that extreme? His Grandma's finger ominously indicated that there was a problem with his upper body.

Shivering, Durrell lowered his gaze to his torso and seized the bottom of the shirt he wore. Then he pulled it up to his neck to expose the skin. Midway down his abdomen was a horizontal incision that stretched from one side of his body to the other. The nasty wound was closed, the flesh and skin sown back together to ensure it stayed that way. Seeing the size of the cut, and the familiar white thread sticking in and out of his skin, overwhelmed him. Durrell grabbed his head in horror and screamed. The demon had taken something out of him.

….

"What did he take?" Durrell cried out, rolling back and forth on the bed cradling his head in both hands. "Oh God, help me! Help me!"

"Durrell, calm down," Jennifer pleaded with him, standing overhead.

Opening his eyes, Durrell found himself in another room. The fluorescent lights of the hospitals were gone and the white walls substituted for beige ones. He was on his back in a large bed underneath a thick comforter. Shoving the blanket off, he frantically sat up and yanked the shirt up past his collar. With the clothing out of the way he looked at his bare stomach. Nothing.

"What happened to the cut?" Durrell asked, breathing laboriously. "He took something out of me."

"He didn't touch you, hon," Jennifer shook her head. "I swear you're okay."

"But… but…"

_A dream. _He wasn't in the hospital and the only visible external injury was his right arm. The bicep was tightly wound inside of a thin white material. _Just a dream. _A twisted dream no doubt prompted by the terrifying events of the evening. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Durrell observed his new surroundings. The top of the glass nightstand to his immediate left shared a black compact Bible and a gray lamp. Beyond the foot of the bed resided a door with peaceful landscape paintings on either side.

"Just a dream," Durrell muttered, allowing the truth to sink in. He let his shirt fall and turned to Jennifer. "You okay?"

Although Jennifer was on her feet, it appeared that she hadn't faired particularly well. Her hair hung in her face and the thin bangs that she had were stuck to her forehead, held there by sweat. The way she stood, wavering slightly back and forth, told Durrell she was in need of rest.

"I'm still breathing so I won't complain," Jennifer replied, blowing thin strands of hair out of her left eye's view.

"What happened? Did the police come? All I remember is crashing and…"

"We did crash," Jennifer assented, nodding. "It could have been a whole lot worse. You didn't have your seat belt on and you almost went right out the windshield. I woke up and you were out of it. I didn't know how far behind that thing was, and I didn't want to wait around to find out. So I… dragged you here."

That would explain her worn out appearance.

"Thank you."

"Thank you for working out as much as you do," Jennifer said, smugly. "And making my job harder."

"Most people would have left my black butt out there. I would have deserved it with the way I've acted lately."

"Nah," Jennifer grinned. "The thought didn't cross my mind once. As far as I'm concerned I got you into this mess and I'm going to see you through it. We're in this together, no matter what."

"Where are we?" Durrell's eyes roamed the medium-sized room again. "Looks like a hotel."

"Yes, sir – welcome to the Jack and Suzie Inn," Jennifer gestured towards the room, as if advertising it. "An old couple owns it. We're on the border of Erie County in a little city called Shady Dawn. Heard of it?"

"My Grandma hates the place. She never told me why and I didn't ask but she's always refused to drive through it. Hates it."

"Well, for the moment it's our refuge I hope."

"What did you tell Jack and… Suzie was it? I'm presuming that you _didn't_ mention we were out to kill someone and ended up being chased by a boogeyman. A boogeyman who has a knack for knitting, no less."

"I told them that we had an accident, which is true. But I didn't mention exactly where it was. I don't want them calling the police, yet. I'm either going to have to tell the total truth about what happened to us tonight, or we leave and find a way of our own."

"Why not let the cops get involved?"

"Not yet," Jennifer said, sternly. "The van we stole from that _thing_ had bodies in the back of it. I may be released with a warning if they find out who I am since I can't be tied directly to any crimes. However, those bodies on top of my association – that would cause a big setback."

"What are we going to do, then? We have to call them, somehow."

"There's a payphone in the library," Jennifer informed him. "I'll call a taxi first to assure us a ride out of here. When the car shows up you'll hold him while I call the police and hang up. They come, we're gone, no controversy. Work for you?"

"Sounds good," Durrell shrugged. "Where are we going to go?"

"Home, finally. The hotel owners will help the cops identify us sooner or later. Before that happens and we arouse suspicions, I'll call to say that we had an accident. We ran into a deer or some kind of animal. That'll explain the damage to the roof of my car. So we'll be off the hook and after the cops find the bodies… they'll search for that thing and hopefully kill it."

"One thing, though… I bled all over the van."

"Rats, I forgot."

"Listen, I know you're concerned that we'll be blamed for the bodies. But I was in seminary school for three weeks and I have no criminal record. If you've cleaned up after yourself as efficiently as you say, you'll clear out as well. The police won't have a reason to distrust me. The evidence should be in our favor. The knife that cut my arm is still in the van, right?"

Jennifer nodded.

"Okay. We didn't lay a hand on it and I know the victims didn't. I say we be honest and tell them everything… leaving out the supernatural stuff."

"Are you sure?" Jennifer asked, doubtfully. "After all we've been through the last thing I want is to be separated. I couldn't stand it if…I need you right now."

Durrell rolled out of the bed and stood in front of Jennifer. She stared despondently into his eyes, her own moist with tears. Weariness and anxiety shone plainly on her face and in her stance. Though the swaying had ceased her shoulders were sagged and her knees trembled. The toughness in Jennifer's spirit that Durrell had long admired was depleted; exhausted in the same manner as her physical body. She was the strongest-willed human being he'd ever met. Man or woman. His instinctive chivalry had been challenged by her independence from day one.

The twenty year old woman was an honored member of the vastly feared Hoods.

She emerged the victor of countless fights with members of both sexes. Life and death encounters with police and rival gangs failed to faze her. Durrell had often desired to comfort her only to learn that it wasn't necessary. Tonight, with the hardened shell of her rough exterior shattered in pieces, Jennifer was reduced to a frail, pathetic form. In reality she was a 5'6", 115 pound girl who had suffered a tumultuous life. Capped off by the nightmare they had entered tonight. Durrell wrapped his arms around her and she collapsed into him, weakly. He struggled under her weight briefly, adjusted his footing, and then held her.

"I've got you," He whispered into her ear. "We won't be split up, I promise."

In response, Jennifer leaned her head on his upper chest.

"I hate to see you like this," Durrell admitted. "I feel bad for you but it's a moment I'll remember forever. I've always wished I could be there to comfort you when you were overwhelmed by life. Today is the first time I've actually seen you… down. The first time you've really needed me."

"I've always needed you, Durrell, you should know that," Jennifer stated.

"I've always been here."

"But don't get your hopes up. It's the first and last time you'll ever see this."

Durrell laughed, "It's worth it."

Ten minutes passed with them standing beside the bed, Jennifer permitting herself to be cradled in Durrell's arms. The bed was a mere inches away and the soft, king-sized mattress was as inviting as any she'd seen. A few hours of sleep would suit her well if they went with the plan to alert the authorities. Police procedure typically led to a full day of questioning when murder was involved. The thought of spending a night in the police station explaining the incident, probably in painstaking detail, turned Jennifer's stomach. One concern decided the matter immediately for her. That _thing_ was out there, somewhere. _I'd rather take my chances with the police. _She'd prefer a run-in with crooked cops to seeing that thing again

"I'll talk to the owners," Jennifer said. "We shouldn't waste any more time. They seemed reasonable so we'll see what happens."

"Sure," Durrell sighed. "We'll see."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Officer Stanton glanced over at his partner in the passenger's seat of the patrol car. Brian Casey was new to the force and reeked of youthful ignorance. The well-groomed beard and mustache hadn't fooled Stanton and he doubted it would fool anyone else; including the surge of criminals engaging in gang activity throughout Erie County during the last four months. Rookies were a necessary part of the police department, yes. They were the grim future that Stanton and older employees knew as imminent. However, the young cops had a knack for getting the veterans killed in the heat of battle.

Unfortunately, Stanton had been without choice in teaming up with Casey. The Lieutenant argued that someone needed to show him the ropes. He'd said that there was no one better than Officer Stanton for that job. _Probably true, _he thought to himself, smugly. At the moment, the young man was leaning as close to the window as he could, trying to avoid the smoke from his partner's cigarette. Stanton took his eyes away from his adopted protégé to see the farm they were coming up on to the left.

"You sure we won't need some type of backup?" Casey asked.

"Don't know," Officer Stanton said through the cigarette clenched between his teeth. "I doubt it. The gangs in the city don't bother venturing out here much. There's nothing to steal, really, unless you count the crops."

"I've heard that some of the farmers are filthy rich, though. They sell the majority of what they grow to the town stores if my memory serves me correctly."

"You grew up out here, huh?" Stanton muttered.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I hope you put that history to good use and calm this crazy lady down."

The blonde woman was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of her house. She was a slight lady, five foot nothing, with a couple of extra pounds packed onto her small frame. In her hands she wielded a shotgun that practically dwarfed her by comparison. The house was a one story, rancher-styled home with neatly trimmed grass and a well kept bed of flowers bordering the pathway leading to the front door. All of the lights were off except for an outside one near the rear. It exposed a barn in the distance with a fence enclosing the structure and a field.

Stanton parked the car on the opposite side of the road and pushed the door open. He spit the cigarette onto the ground and stepped on it, grinding it into the asphalt to put it out. Then he motioned for his partner to follow. The two men exited the vehicle and closed their doors behind them before approaching the woman. She stopped pacing and lowered the gun to her side to demonstrate that she wasn't attempting to threaten them. Smart, but unnecessary move. The shotgun obviously made Casey nervous. Stanton had become too well adept at reading the intentions of people in body language to consider her a problem.

She was about Stanton's age, he guessed. The 911 operator had informed him that the caller, Ms. Orwell was concerned about her 19-year-old son. She appeared to be in her mid to late forties which matched the voice according to the operator. An attractive woman, especially for forty. The age as well as the hard labor had etched a few lines into her otherwise pretty face. Her sleeveless, pink, flowered dress reached down to her ankles, showing bare feet standing on the sidewalk.

"Are you Ms. Mandy Orwell?" Stanton inquired when he and his partner neared.

"As sure as you're late I'm Ms. Mandy Orwell," The woman replied.

_Oh, boy. One of those._ Stanton's attraction to Ms. Orwell began to wane, instantly.

"Sorry, we had a little trouble locating the place," Officer Stanton told her. "What's the problem here?"

"My son went out to bring in the chickens, Penny and Speckles," Mandy Orwell explained. "There are a lot of foxes running wild in the forest surrounding the farms here. The other animals are too strong or too fast to be easy prey for them. The chickens, though… those little bastards ran off with three of them before I had Sam start bringing them inside the house.

"Anyway, he went out fifteen minutes ago. Sometimes the chickens come up to him immediately. Sometimes they give him a hard time and run around the yard like they're pet coons. Even then it only takes him five minutes to catch them and come back. Tonight I heard some strange noises and it sounded like he was speaking to somebody. I called for him but he didn't say anything. Then it got quiet back there and I… well, I'm a little frightened to go alone."

"You did the right thing," Stanton nodded, his eyes on the barn beyond the fence. "I want you to go inside the house and wait for us to come to you. We can't let you back there with us. That would be against police rules. Alright, Ms. Orwell?"

"Okay, you just bring my Derrick with you in one piece," Mandy turned and strutted towards the door to her home.

"Let's move," Stanton led the way along the side of the house with Casey at his heels.

"Shouldn't we have our guns out?" Casey pondered, his hand already resting on the butt of the pistol in the holster hugging his waist.

"Naw, I don't want to risk getting surprised by the kid," Officer Stanton dismissed the question, wrinkling his nose as if it were a dirty thought. "You're still green and I'm a little edgy right now so if he comes running out of the barn, with our weapons out… we're liable to have holes blasted in us by dear old Ms. Orwell."

"Right."

"Besides, pal," Stanton grinned. "The kid probably has a girlfriend up from town. That's why he's taking his time."

"Strange noises," Casey chimed in. "Maybe it's just been a while since she's heard them."

Chuckling, Stanton eyed the massive backyard ahead of them. The barn resided on the far side of the property, separated from the house by a fenced-in field. Lying in the grass of the field were ducks displaying various colors and feather patterns. Usually upon sight of strangers the animals would start producing all kinds of racket. They remained quiet, staring at the approaching police officers. _Odd, huh? _Stanton's attention was lured to the barn ahead. The red structure with large doors was bathed in the shadows of the surrounding trees.

The closer Stanton and Casey moved, the clearer the view became. Soon they were able to see that the barn doors were open a tiny crack. An oddly shaped animal or shadow blocked the lower part of the doors. The light attached to the back of the house didn't extend far enough to properly illuminate the barn. Stanton would have been annoyed if not for one of the tools attached to his holster. He grabbed the flashlight, aimed it ahead of them, and switched it on.

The bright beam penetrated the darkness of the night and shone brightly on the barn's surface. The narrow space between the two doors revealed cows standing inside of the building. One of the animal's heads was in view as it gingerly chewed the hay hanging out of its mouth. The light failed to disturb it and it continued eating, not bothering to peek in the direction of the officers.

A noise, like that of a carnivore savagely eating its food, carried into Stanton's ears. Guttural growls escaped hungry lips and a wet, squishing, sound occasionally interrupted them. The officers exchanged a bewildered glance. Bile rose up in Stanton's throat and the taste of it encircled his tongue. He gritted his teeth and swallowed, forcing the putrid liquid back down. _Not in front of the rookie._ _But what the hell is that? _Ms. Orwell had mentioned that foxes preyed on the farm animals. Perhaps the irritating and destructive creatures had returned and killed the chickens prior to the boy's arrival. He might be ashamed to tell his mother that he was too late to prevent the attack.

Logic told Stanton that the hypothesis, although good, was wrong. Ducks wouldn't just sit around doing nothing while foxes feasted on one of their companions. He wasn't raised on a farm like his younger partner, but he was familiar with animal behavior. The cows certainly wouldn't be eating if they sensed danger. And even if the beasts were too stupid to react appropriately, there was no reason to believe that Ms. Orwell's son was. The house was probably loaded with weapons to keep predators at bay, as well as to thwart thievery.

"What is that, sir?" Casey pointed toward the ground before the barn.

The sounds continued as Stanton lowered the flashlight's beam to the area Casey had indicated. Crouched there in the grass was a human figure with its back turned to the officers. It was a male, unless the size and shape of the body were deceitful. He was slender, yet powerfully built, cloaked in a black trench coat resembling old Civil War era-wear. Long, raggedy, white hair showed behind his head, which was shaking frantically from side to side. A wide-brimmed dark hat covered the top of his skull, concealing his skin color.

"What the…" Casey stammered.

Another human body lay trapped underneath the man, considerably smaller than the frame crouched over it. The torso was blocked by the shrouded figure, yet two legs covered by jeans were in plain view. One of the legs bent at the knee every couple of seconds, jerking upward. The upper thighs were stained with a dark liquid. A puddle had already formed on the ground beside the body.

"Stand up and put your hands up, NOW!" Stanton ordered, tearing his gun out of the holster. He took the safety off and aimed the muzzle at the head of the man in the hat. "Away from the body!"

Following the lead of his partner, Casey anxiously brought his weapon out.

The repugnant noises ceased and the man's head snapped up, suddenly. Whatever he was doing had so occupied him that he hadn't noticed the light on the barn ahead. Now that he saw it, and heard the voice, he carefully raised his arms up to his sides in surrender. The large hands of the man were empty and ended in what appeared to be sharp nails. Stanton was not fazed by them. They had to be gloves; their color was a dark, greenish, black. What did trouble him was the on the fingers.

"Not yet,"Stanton cautioned. The words were addressed to himself as much as to the rookie. He was struggling to retain his own finger from tightening on the trigger. _Can't shoot him unless he threatens us or that person in front of him._ Casey's hands were beginning to tremble and out of the corner of his eye, Stanton saw his facial expression. The young officer looked like he'd had enough already.

"I said stand up!" Stanton hollered.

Obediently, the man in the coat rose from his crouched position. He took two steps to the right to permit the officers to see what his body had previously concealed. A young man lied in the grass with his arms down at his sides. He and his mother shared the same blonde hair and similar facial features. They were evident despite the blood splattered on his chin, cheeks, and forehead. The white shirt he wore was torn in the middle and soiled by more of the crimson liquid. Casey gawked at the eyes of the kid, frozen forever on the sky in wide-eyed horror.

The man in the coat gingerly turned his head, peering at the officers over his shoulder. His face managed to stay hidden in a shadow cast by the brim of the hat. The movement startled Casey and annoyed the older cop. If his hands had not remained up and in clear view, Stanton would have shot him dead without a second's thought. Instead he waited until the cloaked figure turned to fully face them. Then he raised the flashlight to shine the beam on the head of the man, hoping that it would get past the shadow.

The upper half of the man's face, including his eyes, remained obscure. Stanton's heart skipped a beat when his gaze settled on the lower half. Not white, tanned, or black skin. It was a rough gray-black color like the hands. Along the sides of the nose were thick flaps of skin that lined the corners of his mouth. The flaps ended half an inch below the chin where they were connected to rigid, tentacle-like tendrils extending forward from the jaw lines. On the corners of the chin, the tendrils ended in black claws and overlapped the flaps, seemingly fastened to the rest of the bizarre face. The mouth was open, and holding a bloody, ragged, mass of gore in its teeth. The meat hung down in strands past the chest of the _man_. Fresh blood dripped off of it.

Stanton and Casey watched, aghast, while the man opened his lips wider and sucked the mass into his mouth. The flesh left a trail of blood on his chin as it disappeared. Throwing his head back, he gulped repeatedly, sending the meat down his throat. Once finished, licked his lips, and fixed his eyes on the officers. They were frozen until he stalked in their direction.

"What is that?"

"I couldn't care less right now," Stanton yelled. The thing's hands were still up in surrender but it was advancing. _It was eating that poor kid._ _That's all the reason I need. _He wasn't planning to wait until it decided to become violent.Logic argued that the approaching menace was a man dressed in a perfect Halloween costume. Monsters didn't exist. Still, they had provided him with ample time to yield. And human or not, he had probably murdered Ms. Orwell's son. "Shoot it!"

Stanton and Casey fired simultaneously. The first couple of bullets did little to budge the creature and succeeded only in irritating him. He scowled at the men, baring the long, sharpened teeth in his mouth. Ms.Orwell's son's blood coated the fangs of his killer. He defiantly continued his pace, methodically heading towards them. Shocked, yet refusing to back down, the cops incessantly pulled their triggers. The constant brrage of gunfire caused the demon's body to jerk to one side involuntarily. He growled and they continued shooting, hitting him in the stomach, legs, and chest.

Two shots hit the cloaked figure especially hard and he staggered, and then fell backwards. He landed in the grass with a heavy thud and lied motionless. Stanton used the opportunity to reload his weapon which he immediately retrained on the target. He gestured for his partner to do the same and a visibly shaken Casey followed his silent instructions. _Has to be a bulletproof vest. He has to be human… but those teeth…_

Stanton stepped towards the slain enigma, refusing to remove his eyes from it. There didn't appear to be any blood on its body, but the clothing could be in the way. A red shirt it wore underneath the trench coat was torn and tattered due to the bullets that had ripped through it. _Maybe, _Stanton remarked hopefully, _it's red because of blood._

"You still want to be on the force here, boy?" Stanton asked Casey, grinning. He needed the humor to relax; a conversation to break the oppressive silence. _Anything_. In his many years involved in law enforcement, Stanton had learned of the evils that men were capable of. Very little surprised him anymore but this was too much.

"Oh man, what in hell did we just kill?" The rookie cop laughed nervously, staring at the downed beast. "You think the kid is still alive?"

There was no question that the bloody mass the creature had eaten before their eyes had once been a part of Derrick. Stanton briefly moved the flashlight beam to the body of the young man. He was long gone. The gaping hole in his stomach was further indication of his gruesome demise. The senior officer knew that the vomit he fought off earlier would return. Later. Currently, he had no time for sickness.

_It was eating him. _The realization threatened to overwhelm Casey. He swallowed to calm himself and looked away from the awful corpse. The job of a police officer was the least desirable for those who preferred to avoid peril. Brave men and women put their lives at risk every day to serve the people they were sworn to protect. Numerous children were robbed of parents murdered in the line of duty. They often died heroically and Casey was fine with that possibility. He could not imagine a worse fate, however, than being eaten.

The creature's right arm slipped stealthily from its chest to the ground above its head.

"Hey!" Casey whispered. "It moved its arm."

Stanton returned the light to the creature to see that it was lying, stationary. Its left arm was sprawled to the side while the right arm lay bent up past its head. No difference. That was the exact same position it had landed in when it fell. The rookie had the right to be terrified out of his mind. Seeing things was normal in a situation far from ordinary. "He's dead, Casey. But for good measure…"

The senior officer unloaded another three bullets into the dead creature. Its body shifted slightly with each shot but there was no additional reaction. Casey breathed a sigh of relief. _Maybe it is dead and my eyes are playing tricks on me._

"Should we call it in, now?"

"Darn straight."

Casey started to reach for the radio on his hip when he noticed something wrong. The creature's hands were empty earlier. He'd made a showing of them to the officers in pretended submission. Now, in the light, he had a small item clutched in his right hand. His fingers twitched, and Casey cursed to warn his partner.

The thing sat up, and utilized the momentum to thrust the object out of its hand in the men's direction. It swiftly cut through the air with such speed that it created a light whistling. Stanton got off one poorly aimed shot as a result of his surprise. SKRUTCH! Blood splattered onto Casey's face and he turned to his partner. Stanton was grasping at his throat and making gurgled noises, attempting to speak or scream. Or both. Implanted in his throat was a weapon with four visible spikes blades protruding from it. A shuriken or star of some sort. Stanton sunk to his knees – then dropped onto his face.

"Stanton!" Casey screamed.

The cloaked demon appeared, swatting the gun from Casey's hands with its talons. He screamed again and tripped over his own feet in a desperate effort to escape. He adjusted his body as he fell to land on his hands and knees. Then he pushed off with his feet and half-staggered, half-ran for the car. The road seemed like miles away and his rubbery legs impeded any real progress. They slowed and hindered him from picking up speed. _Come on, kid, get it together._

Casey snatched the radio out of his holster and pressed the button to send a message. Breathing deeply, he cried, "Officer down! Officer down! This is Casey…"

The rear door of the house opened and Ms. Orwell's tiny frame appeared in the doorway. She caught sight of the creature in pursuit of the cop and gasped. Casey yelled and waved at her with his free hand, "Get back in the house, now!"

Holding her hand to an undoubtedly pounding heart, she turned quickly and slammed the door shut behind her.

Ms. Orwell staying out of the way would lighten his burdens. Casey didn't want her to be targeted next. He pressed onward towards the car and finally passed the house, gaining some speed. At the road he held the button on the radio again and tried to speak. The police had to be informed of the situation as soon as possible so that Ms. Orwell wasn't abandoned. The vehicle was a mere ten feet ahead. He was almost out of there. "This is Casey to-"

A single hand grabbed the back of Casey's collar and lifted him off of the pavement. In his panic, he dropped the radio and it crashed to the ground, cracking. The voice of a fellow officer responded to his distress call, asking what had happened. They might arrive in time to help Ms. Orwell but it was too late for Casey. His feet dangled in empty space as his captor whirled him around, bringing him face to face with itself. He stared, mesmerized, into blue eyes that were far too human to belong to anything else.

"What do you… what do you want?" Casey struggled to speak through his fear. "Please… I…"

The creature leaned closer and sniffed him, its rough nose dragging across his chest and neck. An opening on the ridge of the nose fluttered as it sucked in his scent. The air being brought in through the breach caused an odd, slithering sound. It was strangely reminiscent of the cooing that pigeons made. Casey was as confused as he was horrified. What the hell was it doing? _Smelling me?._ Both of Casey's hands were pulling on the beast's wrist to no avail. He wasn't even close to powerful enough to free himself from its grasp.

While it sniffed, the monster's mouth gaped open hungrily. Its rotten breath stank of death and decay. Casey closed his eyes when he saw the teeth. He was helpless and his predicament afforded him few other options. His lone choice was not watching whatever it was going to do to him. _Eat me… just like it did that kid. Oh, God help me. Not like this. Not that way. _He waited for the inevitable sensation of sharp teeth sinking into his flesh, cringing at the mere suggestion. _Let it be over quick, please… please…_

Snorting, the demon blew a blast of air through its nostrils into his face. It shoved him back into the patrol car. His body slammed roughly into one of the doors and he collapsed, sinking to the pavement. Casey covered his head with his arms to ward off the impending assault. He didn't have the strength or the will to fend it off. Whatever it was, it was stronger than any human being and hadn't succumbed to the bullets from Casey's and Stanton's guns. Barehanded, the rookie had no chance in hell. _Stanton. _Three more years and the senior officer would have retired with a decent pension. He was a married man with children, like Casey. The face of his wife and their beautiful four year old daughter displayed on the insides of his eyelids. _You'll never see them again. Any of them._

A hand touched Casey's shoulder and he screamed, wrenching away.

"Relax cop, it's me," Ms. Orwell said.

Lowering his arms, Casey looked up to see the woman bending over toward him. She had one hand on his shoulder and the other held her shotgun. The road behind her and to either side was empty. _Where?_

"Where did it go?" Casey inquired in disbelief. _It left me alone? Alive?_

"I don't know," Ms. Orwell shook her head. Her eyes filled with tears and she frowned. "My son… he got my son, didn't he?"

"I'm sorry," Casey nodded, grimly. "Backup should be on the way by now."

"Too late," Ms. Orwell replied, somberly, turning her back to him. "He was my only child… my only son… what was that thing?"

"I wish I knew," Casey climbed to his feet, surveying the area. The creature was nowhere to be seen. In the back of his mind he couldn't accept that it wasn't nearby, somewhere. Ms. Orwell certainly hadn't chased it off. It was capable of dispatching both of them with ease. _Doesn't matter. _For now, he had been left with his life. Whatever type of a life he could lead after encountering what he had. He was aware at that very moment that he would always be haunted by the fearful possibility that it would one day return. And do worse to him than it had to Derrick Orwell.

….

The monster had never shown itself to the officer again until he died. In accordance with his wishes and prayers it did not return to claim him or his family. Unfortunately, the fractured psyche of its mental victim, Brian Casey, found no relief in the creature's physical absence. He hadn't enjoyed a peaceful night of sleep after that evening. It was a simple pleasure that evaded him until the day he had a heart attack and passed away in his sleep. Close friends and family members assumed that the infarction was a direct result of a nightmare.

Claire remembered the night that her father died all too well. At eight years old she had been lying in her bed, listening to him toss and turn in the next room. The previous night she had visited and comforted him enough to put him to sleep. This time she was tired, and reluctant to crawl out of her fluffy bed. When he started screaming for help, she leapt from under the blankets and ran to him. Her father was clutching his chest, and his eyes were glued to the bedroom window. Claire had glanced up and seen _him_, a supposed man wearing a hat and a coat, watching them through the glass. In her youth, she'd overcome her fear and ignored the shadowy figure.

She called the police and then sat next to her father, squeezing one of his hands during the wait. He lasted less than ten minutes. The ambulance failed to revive him, although not for lack of trying. Claire had observed the desperate attempts to save her father's life, weeping the entire time. She later informed the police that someone had stood at the window. They quieted her and attributed her claims to youth and her father's influence.

Eighteen years had crept by since that day and none of the details were lost on Claire. She had dedicated her life to finding out what had truly happened to her father. The demon in the hat appearing in the window was a delusion, brought on by hysteria. His death due to a heart attack suffered during a nightmare was convincing. She had no reason to disbelieve that. What she questioned was what had occurred twenty-three years ago on that farm. A clear answer had thus far evaded her.

The telephone rang, interrupting Claire's morbid reflections. She blinked and clamped a hand over the cordless receiver on the desk she was seated at. Claire was in her home office, a medium sized room, with her desk in the center overlooking three tall windows. They provided a normally exquisite view of the industrial landscape in Shady Dawn. An American flag was erected to the left of the windows. Decorating the wall on that side were dozens of certificates, awards, and medals. Three fourths of them had belonged to her father. He'd served in the military for 3 years prior to pursuing a job with the police department. To Claire's right, pictures of Claire and her father, sometimes together, were framed and hung up on nails. Behind her was a door leading to the remainder of her two story abode. Books on law, law enforcement, and local mythology lined the bookcase beside it.

Claire didn't need to search through the folders cluttering the surface of her desk for the phone. The lights were out in her office and no one else could have located it. Outside the windows, the moon had already moved out of range and whatever light it was giving off had no effect on the office. Therefore the room was swathed in darkness. Regardless, she recalled precisely where it was because she hadn't touched it in days. Bringing the phone up to her head, Claire tapped the flash button. A shrill beep warned her that the battery was running low.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Casey?" An old man's voice.

"Speaking."

"This is Jack Reid," The man said. "You gave me your number five months ago. You may not remember me."

"I do, Mr. Reid," Claire responded. "You and your wife own that nice little hotel in Shady Dawn if I recall correctly. How is business?"

"We're getting by just fine," Jack chuckled. "A nice young couple stopped by our Inn at 3:07 a.m. Their names are Durrell and Jennifer and from what they tell me, as well as what I see with my own eyes, they have quite a story to tell. He was unconscious when they arrived and he has a nasty cut on his right arm. A deep wound. They're leaving for the hospital in a few minutes."

"What happened to them, Mr. Reid?"

"They claim that they were attacked by someone or _something_ on the road."

"_Something_?"

"Hold on."

"We thought it was a man," A young woman's voice replaced Mr. Reid's seconds later. "It dressed like a man. He wore a hat that covered his face most of the time. And a long coat like one of those you'd see in a civil war reenactment. He drives a van, too and we had to steal it to get away from him. We realized that whatever it was wasn't human when he chased us. Durrell was driving seventy miles per hour and this freak caught up to us on foot. We only got away because he tripped over one of the bodies he had stored in the back of the van. It fell out when he pulled the rear doors open."

"Is this Jennifer?" Claire asked.

"Yes."

"Were you able to get a close enough look at the creature to see its face?"

"We didn't see him up close until he pulled the doors open," Jennifer replied, hesitantly. "He still had the hat on so I couldn't see his eyes or much of his face. But he did have… sharp teeth. I didn't want to stick around to find out what he used them for, either."

_Sharp teeth._ The one detail of her father's account that had embedded itself in Claire's mind was the creature's mouth. He wasn't a writer or a storyteller, yet he explained it in such specific terms that it was easy to visualize. Without having seen the teeth, Claire's dreams were frequently disturbed by visions of them. She couldn't imagine how traumatized her father had actually been after such an experience. If the stories he told her had the effect that they did… _being _there had to have nearly killed him through fear alone. The girl on the phone sounded intelligent – but in denial. According to Mr. Casey, the teeth were not just for show.

"Have you called the police?"

"We can't," Jennifer was a little slow responding. "And there's no way they'd believe a word we said, anyway. Right now it's more important to make sure Durrell receives proper medical attention. I patched up his injury but I'm not an expert. Maybe after we take care of everything we'll talk to the police."

"It wouldn't be wise to keep them out of the loop too long," Claire warned. "A couple of weeks more and I plan to present my case to the authorities. They can't refuse to acknowledge that _something_ strange is happening in Erie County."

"Do you know what that thing is?"

"Not really," Claire replied. "However, I do know what it does. I've compiled two pounds worth of police reports, missing persons cases, and personal testimonies of people who have encountered that thing. The witnesses and those who have come forward are generally honest and reliable folks. They gained nothing except ridicule for sharing their claims, yet no one has detracted a word to this day. The evidence is obvious and it can't be ignored forever. It's the uncanny details that I'm concerned will ruin the case."

"What do you mean?"

"The similar incidents are not isolated to Erie County. They seem to happen along the highway that runs the length of the state. And what baffles me is that the earliest documented report was from 1909. I've discounted two or three dating back to 1840 because of the Leeds Devil hysteria occurring at the time. Two parents, one who lived in Shady Dawn, said that their children were carried off by a winged man in a hat and coat. It's interesting, and more so because of a lack of relation between the families. They had never met each other and yet their stories were eerily similar. Our culprit doesn't fly, though, so that's another reason I leave the accounts out."

"1909…" Jennifer stammered. The fear in her voice spread quickly to Claire's heart. "So this thing has been around for almost a hundred years? And killing people? That's hard to believe… I don't want to believe it."

"Neither do I, Jennifer," Claire sighed. "That's not too important so if you can, forget that I mentioned it. I'm going to gather materials and weapons, and I'll catch up to you and your husband at the hospital. Unless you guys need a ride? I can be at the hotel in twenty five minutes."

"Our cab is probably waiting for us in the parking lot. But thanks, anyway. And thanks for the info. I'm relieved to know that Durrell and I aren't crazy. Unless all of us are."

"You're welcome."

"I wonder, though… if this guy kills as many people as it seems why aren't the authorities alerting the public? And why haven't they caught him?"

"Well, he has a pattern, I think," Claire was equally baffled. "The reports indicate that…"

"Oh, our cab is here," Jennifer interrupted. "I have to go. See you at the hospital?"

"Right. Tell whoever you see that you're expecting a Claire Casey. You'd be hard-pressed to find an employee there who doesn't at least know of me. Take care, and be safe. Both of you."

"You too. Bye."

Claire waited until the call was disconnected and the dial tone sounded. She turned the receiver off and dumped it on top of the desk. Her attention was suddenly snared by a dry, yellow, paper framed on the wall with the photographs. It was the last letter her father had ever written to her. In it, he asked that she perform two tasks in his honor. 1, prove to the world that he wasn't insane by exposing the creature. Despite years of research and study, he had failed so miserably that even his wife, Claire's mother, considered him crazy. She divorced him and moved when he refused to recant his story. _I promise you, I won't desert you like she did. _2, leave it to the authorities to kill the beast.

Claire had laughed upon reading the letter for the 100th time on her 17th birthday. Any human being, no matter how strong or fast, would be insane to pursue such a powerful force. In the midst of her laughter, though, she was aware of how well her father knew her. At seventeen, young Claire had been planning to become a police officer and follow in Mr. Casey's footsteps. Ultimately, she hoped to do what he hadn't… and disobey his 2nd request. Even if doing so resulted in her death.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Shady Dawn was the source of numerous rumors, myths, and urban legends. The city had a recorded population of 1,032 people within a generous space of twelve and a half miles. It was the third largest city in the Erie County region and contained the least amount of citizens. According to reliable sources, the population count had been up to 36,000 the previous decade. Why and when the dramatic change occurred was open to debate and varied depending on whom you spoke to. Durrell's grandmother had little more to say than that it was pure evil. She forbade him from driving through it or even coming close. _Sorry, Grandma._

The couple that owned Jack and Suzie's Inn told Durrell and Jennifer that several major sections of the city were abandoned. They didn't know why, unfortunately. Not that it mattered to Jennifer. She was adamant about her boyfriend receiving medical attention. Despite what had to be a low income, the Shady Dawn Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital was prominent. Some Erie County residents went out of their way to obtain medical treatment at the hospital's excellent facilities. Reviewers despised the city itself, but had nothing negative to report on Our Lady of Lourdes.

There was another hospital that had closed down nine years ago following the departure of most Dawn citizens. Suzie personally talked to the cab driver who picked up the younger couple to avoid a mishap. He was a white man, mid-forties, with short black hair and a goatee. The newer drivers and those unfamiliar with Shady Dawn had dropped customers off at the uninhabited hospital. The surrounding part of the city was void of payphones and some angry patrons had to walk quite a distance. One man died on the journey. Bled to death. Jennifer wasn't going to let that happen. And Suzie hadn't allowed the driver to leave until he swore to take them to the proper destination.

Durrell and Jennifer sat in the middle of the cab's backseats. She was tiredly leaning on his left side, content to be cradled by one arm. They had selected the center so that one of them could keep a watchful eye on the road at all times. Jennifer hadn't slept in twenty-four hours and her eyelids weighed twenty pounds each at the moment. She was confident that Durrell would have a better chance of remaining conscious. He'd enjoyed some shuteye at the hotel, although the loss of blood had weakened him. _You could just rest now and rely on the cab driver, instead of wearing yourself out staying awake._ _He speaks fluent English so it's not like he didn't hear Suzie tell him a million times to go to Lourdes. And Durrell seems too mystified by the city to fall asleep._

The view that the window on Jennifer's side of the car afforded them was exceptional. The night had gradually relinquished its reign over the sky while the couple waited in the hotel. A clock in the front of the vehicle read 7:27, which was three minutes from sunrise. The round top of the massive star peered through the tall, ancient structures of Shady Dawn. Radiant beams of light hit the streets where wide enough spaces between the buildings permitted them to pass. Remaining in the firmament on the opposite side was the moon; rendered useless by the greater light's presence.

Jennifer had given the moon a glance after Durrell pointed it out, and then returned her eyes to the sunrise. The sun wasn't fierce enough to be dangerous yet and she'd witnessed its ascent less than a handful of times. Never had it brought with it the same relief she presently felt. She was tormented by the fear of seeing the demon crouching in a shadow on the way to the hospital. With the night departing, her concerns wavered. She needed the child-like reprieve. Unless the thing in the hat was a vampire, (a laughable hope), the daylight wouldn't make a difference. There was the remote chance that it preferred to work at night to escape exposure. _Possible, but let's try not to worry about that right now._

Shady Dawn's buildings were an odd contrast. A few were recently constructed. The majority had survived 80 years since the city's business boom in the early 1900's. Maintenance performed on them every three years failed to conceal old age. Gargoyles perched on random roofs, and the styles of others hindered the attempts. Rundown apartments in what many called the "ghetto" of Erie County looked newer than these buildings. Old, in this case, didn't mean worse, however. The beauty of the sunrise was actually accented by the peaceful scenery. Thus far, the cab had passed six people; two in cars, four walking. That left the edifices undisturbed and unique in antiquity.

The stone demons, though, reminded Jennifer of the stranger's comments on the phone. Claire mentioned that two families had claimed that their children were carried off by something. Was there more to the cloaked being than she imagined? _Nah. _Today, people on the internet told tall tales about the Erie County Devil, dailyRegardless of the so-called "Phenomenal Week of 1909", seven days during which thousands of people reported seeing the devil, Jennifer didn't buy it. _Let's not become like them… even if there is something here._

"You doing okay?" Durrell asked, rubbing her back.

"Yup," Jennifer said. "I kind of like the look of this city. Old-fashioned and quiet. I may be in a bad area now, but I've always wanted to live in a place like Shady Dawn. Without the… creepy part of it all."

"Yeah, it's a little too much like that movie with the kids," Durrell nodded. "You know, the one where they take over the whole town and kill the adults."

"That would explain the lack of population."

"Hey, I don't care how crazy they are – I'm not getting killed by some little brats," Durrell replied. "I'll be damned if I let that happen. I'll feed them to that monster back there if I have to."

Jennifer laughed.

The car came to a screeching halt in the middle of the road, throwing Durrell and Jennifer forward. He instinctively held onto her, keeping her head safely tucked underneath his arm. His other hand went up to block the brunt of the force as his body collided with the window that separated the front of the vehicle from the back. He hit his forehead on the glass and bounced off to land in the seat. Jennifer pulled out of his grasp and immediately pounded on the divider. "What are you doing? Are you crazy? You could have killed us!"

"You should have been wearing your seatbelts," The driver responded, coyly. "We're at your stop. Get out."

"Jerk," Durrell muttered, glaring at the man.

Arguing with the cabby was a waste of time. Jennifer rolled her eyes and turned to peer out the window past Durrell who was caressing his forehead, still staring angrily at the driver. A gigantic structure filled the entire the city block. It was an old brick building with several compartments adding to its size. Three pairs of double doors awaited a few yards ahead. Bold black letters pasted to a white sign read, "Emergency Room"; the sign was stationed above the duo in the center. The rest of the hospital was too huge to see with the limited view from the car.

What Jennifer did see confused her. The windows on the inside were either completely darkened or poorly lit. Those with some lighting revealed thick cobwebs blanketing the otherwise empty space inside. One or two of the windows had been cracked, presumably due to age or poor care. Even the doors were far from decent condition. Half of the red paint on the three pairs had peeled off. The one in the center lacked a doorknob and was slightly ajar.

"Um, are you sure this is the right hospital?" Jennifer asked. "Doesn't look like it to me."

The driver whirled around and pressed the muzzle of a black gun against the glass. It was aimed directly at her head. Jennifer inhaled sharply and held her hands up. He yelled through the window, "Get out of the car! Both of you. I told you we're at your stop. This is where you get off, now move!"

"You've got to be kidding me," Durrell muttered, his heart pounding in anger and trepidation. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not playing around," The man extended his arm to point the muzzle at the passenger door's window. He pulled the trigger and the glass shattered into a hundred pieces. Durrell shielded his ears at the explosive sound, cringing. The gunshot continued to ring loudly in his ears regardless of him covering them. Satisfied and wild-eyed, the driver refocused the weapon on his bewildered passengers and said through clenched teeth, "Out. NOW!"

"Okay, okay," Jennifer reached across Durrell and unlocked his door. She gently pushed on his shoulder to snap him out of a daze. He opened the door and climbed out on shaky legs, stepping away to clear a space for her. The driver predatorily observed their every move, the gun trained on the girl's head. Jennifer couldn't help sneering at him although she didn't want to provoke further violence. She hated that man with every fiber of her being. He was worse than the demon. _Evil in that thing is nothing compared to it in a fiend like this nut_. Her eyes burned into his until she stood outside of the vehicle and slammed the door shut.

The tires spun madly on the pavement and then propelled the cab along the road as the man turned away. He passed a station wagon parked in front of an empty parking lot and his passenger's rearview mirror took off the opposite mirror of the stationary vehicle. Jennifer muttered, "Idiot," under her breath. She removed her eyes from him only when the yellow vehicle was a dot in the distance. Then she looked to her boyfriend to see that he was on his knees, head down in disgust.

"What the hell was his problem?" Jennifer demanded, aware that he was as clueless as she was.

Sighing heavily, Jennifer placed her hands on her hips and beheld their surroundings. The hospital was a stunning six stories high. An unusual height for an old establishment. She figured that renovations were made to it in relatively recent years to increase the size. Probably prior to the days when everyone seemingly filed out of the city. No wonder it had gone out of business.

The buildings on the other side of the street were more decrepit than the hospital. Windows were missing or boarded up, and many doors were nonexistent. A lopsided, rusty, "Pepper's Convenience Store" sign indicated the name of the one story, wooden structure directly across the street.

Perched atop doorways, misplaced bricks, and the tops of the buildings were a gathering of black crows. The birds silently returned the young woman's gaze with beady black eyes; watching her in unison. The ledge of a four story building contained three gargoyles and was lined with the flying pests. They bravely stood atop the heads and outstretched wings of the beasts. One of them ruffled its feathers and cawed once, sending a chill down her spine.

"That's a lot of birds," Durrell stated the obvious. "What are we going to do?"

"This is definitely not the hospital Jack and Suzie were talking about."

"Nope."

"What on earth is going on here?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Durrell shrugged and turned in the direction that the cab had taken off in. He gestured towards the car it had passed, and said, "You know how to hotwire one of those don't you?"

Jennifer followed his signal to the rear of the older model station wagon. Then she grinned at Durrell. "I like the way you think for a square guy."

"Well, sometimes our bad pasts come in handy. And we're going to return it later, so we can repent then. I think the circumstances merit the action."

"If it still runs, then I should be able to take care of the job," Jennifer cracked her knuckles and started walking towards it.

The back window of the vehicle was covered in dust that prohibited interior visibility through it. An annoyance the couple would have to deal with for the time being. It wasn't like they had a whole lot of choices. Durrell wasn't sure what else they could do in the likely case that the vehicle was past operating condition. He decided not to dwell on such pessimistic thoughts. Nothing else had gone right tonight but hope was all he had left to hang on to for strength. He pondered whether the cab driver was having a bad day himself, or if something else was abound. _Don't know, don't care_. He was at least thankful that the ringing in his ears was beginning to fade. _At least I'm not going deaf._

His eyes scaled the buildings on the next block where he was startled to see a lack of birds. On the left side of the road was an apartment complex with a tiny parking lot in front of it. A single crow stood on the roof. Other than that, the birds had apparently deserted the block. _Odd. _The way they were watching Durrell and Jennifer intensified his discomfort.

Ignoring them, he refocused on the station wagon as the couple drew within a few yards. At this range, he noticed that someone was actually sitting in the driver's seat. The crown of a bald head scarcely stuck past the neck cushion on the chair. The back of his skull was resting on the cushion as if he was sleep. Perhaps, whoever it was would be more hospitable than the cab driver. Durrell had no desire to walk the streets of the strange city unless it was necessary. He lacked an explanation, but he had a bad feeling. As if his grandmother's words, which he previously assumed to be exaggerated, were true. _Evil. It's like a ghost town… _

The term "ghost town" applied perfectly to Shady Dawn. _Resident population: 1,000. Scary birds: 4,000. _The humorous mental observation brought a brief smile to his face. Right now the calculation of a thousand human residents was pushing it. In the rest of Erie County's cities and towns, employees and employers were driving to work at 7 a.m. Streets weren't anywhere near as barren as the road the cabby had dumped them off on. An hour earlier and there were still more than…

"What…" Jennifer stammered, her voice low.

The interior of the station wagon became visible after a couple of steps. The back seats were vacant. _Like the rest of Shady Dawn. _Durrell turned to the man in the front seat and his heart sank. Behind the wheel sat a bald man in his thirties, wearing black dress pants and a pale blue work shirt. His arms were at his sides and his head was tilted towards Durrell. He initially thought that the darker black bulges on his legs were stains. They weren't. Nor were the objects on the seat beside him. They were crows, and it was their bleak color that stood out against his pants. The birds were pecking at his legs and abdomen, stealing tiny chunks of flesh and gobbling them down. Their comrades in the passenger's seat snacked on meat they had torn away from the corpse. _Oh, goodness._ The last discovery was the worst.

Blood streamed down the man's cheeks and dripped onto the collar of his shirt. His mouth was a gaping black hole. The teeth were there although the crows had devoured the tip of his tongue. It lay motionless on his bruised bottom lip. Above the mouth, his nose had been left intact. Where his eyes had once been, all that remained were two sunken holes. Blood was dripping out of the crow-created orifices. The hollows that had held his eye sockets stared back at the couple, as black as the birds and resembling a bottomless pit.

"Tell me I'm not seeing this…"

Unable to contain herself, Jennifer grabbed her head in her hands and screamed. The loud, blood-curdling shrieks rattled Durrell standing beside her and echoed throughout the desolate street. She had stayed strong for his sake long enough. The nightmare relentlessly continued without letting up. The beautiful sunset and the daylight had not ended their ordeal. _It'll never end._

"Quiet, Jennifer," Durrell urged, attempting to cup his hand over her mouth.

"NO!" Jennifer shouted, slapping his hand away. "Durrell, what is this?!"

"SHHHHH!" He pressed his index finger to her lips, looking upwards. She reluctantly looked as well, alarmed by his expression.

The sound of rushing hit her ears before her eyes reached the tops of the buildings across from the hospital. The crows were restlessly shuffling their feet and flapping their wings. Some of them opened their beaks and released raucous cries. They weren't large animals, yet the combined effect of the noises was almost deafening. Without warning, several of the birds leapt into the sky and flew overhead. Thirty of the winged menaces joined the first series. Black, shiny wings flapped, propelling them past Durrell and Jennifer's location.

"What the…" Durrell stammered.

The remnant of the birds, a hundred of them, hopped off of their perches to fly behind the others. A mass of black literally blanketed the orange-blue sky. The rays of light that the sun produced disappeared, blocked by the feathery beasts. Momentarily, the street was shaded until the last of the animals passed overhead. _Where are they going?_ The crows at the head of the flock performed a slim 180 degree turn in the air a hundred feet away. Then they dove, descending towards the street while flailing their wings urgently.

In depth knowledge of bird behavior wasn't required to know what the crows were planning. Jennifer and Durrell whirled around and ran as fast as they could.

"Where do we go?" Durrell shouted to be heard. The loud flapping wings and caws of the birds had become more intense. They were ready for blood. An image of the eyeless man in the car caused him to accelerate.

"Inside the hospital, that's the only place!" Jennifer replied, trailing her boyfriend.

The two raced en route for the emergency room entrance, hands balled into fists for maximum speed. Jennifer was a fast runner but she didn't feel as if she was moving fast enough. Wind beat at her back due to the flapping wings behind her. _Or is that my imagination?_ _How close are they? _She didn't want to risk a glance over a shoulder. That would slow her down. The doors were less than fifteen yards ahead and one of them was open. _Still, what if the birds are close?_

She prepared to look when a sharp, knifelike object skimmed the side of her head. Jennifer screamed, due to the contact and what it meant - not the pain. It hadn't hurt. The attack revealed that they had already caught up with her. To prove that point, one of the crows darted past her with its beak dripping blood. _Is that mine?_ Two birds whisked by and one snapped at her shoulder. She swatted it off, knocking it to the asphalt. The second crow landed on her head and pecked down on her skull, viciously assaulting her. She cried out, reaching up to bat at the creature.

"Jennifer!" Durrell called, somewhere ahead.

Long hair had fallen into Jennifer's face during the attack. She brushed it out of her vision only to have another crow peck the back of her hand. It _did_ hurt this time and she stumbled… then fell face-first onto the ground. She absorbed the impact in her forearms and a knee, and crawled forward, trying to escape. Six pairs of talons landed on her back and she cried out, lifting a hand to brush them off. They went after the limb, biting and pecking. She squeezed her eyes shut due to the pain. _No. No. _It was all she could think.

Two powerful hands grasped her wrist and yanked her to the left. She was helpless to struggle and was pulled along the ground. The birds dismounted and one of them clawed her skin as its talons released her. She screamed, dreadfully, consumed with the prospect of a slow, agonizing death – eaten alive by the brutal crows. The hands on her wrists tightened and dragged her over a bump and onto a cold, tile surface. She opened her eyes while Durrell released her, charged the door they had crossed, and rammed his shoulder into it. His full weight smashed into the durable plastic. A crow cawed as collided with the material at full speed and was thrown out of the room. The door closed.

The handle on the inside of the door was missing as well. _Of course. _Durrell groaned, internally. Then he spotted a five inch steel cylinder a foot and a half from the top of the door. It was glued or nailed to the door, he couldn't be sure which. It appeared sturdy, though, and that was what counted. On the wall aligned with the cylinder was a sliding, solid, steel latch with a radius of a little over a quarter of an inch. Durrell raised a hand to the latch, keeping his full 150 pounds on the door. He touched it and started to slide it through the cylinder. Dozens of the birds banged into the door at the same time, startling him. _Easy, they can't break through that. _Breathing in, he used two fingers to push the latch fully through the cylinder.

"Wow," Durrell blew the air out through his lips exhaustedly.

He was in better physical condition than to be fatigued from the short sprint. It was the fear and excitement that had evaporated his breath and energy. Wisely, he leaned on the door to wait until his heart beat slowed. He exchanged a glance with his girlfriend, who was sitting on the floor, staring up at him in appreciation. The hair on the right side of her head was bloody and there was a thin cut an inch in front of her ear. _Huh. Still pretty even after almost getting killed._ Durrell grinned, basking in the respite of having snatched both of their lives from the inevitable jaws of death. It had pursued them vigorously all night. Unsuccessful, thus far. _Not yet._

The couple turned, simultaneously, to survey the Emergency Room. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary except for the missing people who usually packed the hospital room at all ours of the day. Durrell's last visit to the E.R. had left a lasting impression. He went in with a sprained ankle and two hours passed before he was seen. The other patients remarked that Our Lady of Lourdes had quicker service. Grandma Darlene didn't pay attention. _Well, if we came in touch with those birds I would have arrived at Lourdes minus my eyes on top of the ankle injury._

Six rows of empty chairs were set in the middle of the floor, facing the east wall. (If the north was opposite Durrell) A door marked "Triage" led into a smaller section of the E.R. Durrell remembered it as the room where patients' vital signs were checked and the symptoms recorded. The typical large window that offered an interior view from the E.R., had a yellow curtain drawn over it. The north was bare with the exception of double doors. Turning to his left, the west, Durrell saw a short hallway with doors on both sides. What dim light a caged bulb in the ceiling granted cast little illumination in the area.

"It had to be used recently, right?" Jennifer asked no one in particular. She wanted to hear something besides the miniature bodies of the crows flying into the door. Although she knew it was impossible for them to penetrate the plastic, her heart leapt with every thump. Unfortunately, her voice wasn't as comforting as she hoped it would be. "That's why the lights are on?"

"They might have plans for it in the future," Durrell said. "Or if our fortune has changed, there's someone here who can help us. Or a phone to call the police…"

"And call Claire to warn her not to come. If she survives the… crows, she'll be trapped with us. Won't do either of us any good."

"Let's find the phone before we start making plans," Durrell advised.

He held out a shaky hand to Jennifer. She accepted it with a blood covered hand of her own and was gently hauled to her feet. Once she was steady, he reached up and touched under the cut on the side of her head. She winced. The crows had caused worse damage to the top and side of her head. Her blonde highlights were mixed with a dark red – almost black. Durrell didn't have the heart to inspect the injuries yet. He was already upset that she had been harmed in the first place. Tears would fall if he saw the extent of the damage. He had to return the favor of being the strong one for her, in spite of him being as terrified as she was.

CRASH!!! A window on the side of the locked door shattered and a burst of light came through. It was swallowed by darkness as the forms of the black crows poured into the E.R. A few of the birds dropped to ground and lay still while the rest flew overhead. _Crap!_ The couple had forgotten the windows during the frantic scamper to the hospital.

Grabbing Jennifer's hand, Durrell charged ahead to the double doors on the north. Two crows whipped by his face and one pecked at his nose. He turned his head aside to avoid the blow, and pulled a screaming Jennifer along the floor. At the doors, he tried the handle of one and thanked God when it turned. Yanking the door open at full force knocked the wood into several approaching birds. They cawed and fell back while Jennifer took the initiative and dove through the narrow space into the next area. Durrell jumped in after her and pulled the door closed.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

"What are we going to do?" Jennifer asked. "What's the plan?"

"I'm not sure," Durrell shook his head.

The couple had not advanced more than three paces beyond the double doors. Four minutes ticked by while they waited, allowing their racing hearts to settle. They were also far from eager to explore the unfamiliar setting. Jennifer was content to let her eyes roam the area for signs of danger or assistance. _Anything but birds. I could live the rest of my life without seeing one again._

The renovations of ten years ago had done the hospital well. Jennifer had been fooled by the wooden doors and defective windows into thinking it was a brick trash heap. The interior, at least where they currently stood, was in decent condition. Smooth white tiles without a speckle of dust supported them from underneath. Straight ahead and behind them, the walls were painted a pale green color. Only a few spots were peeling due to age. Overhead, the ceiling was a white that perfectly matched the floor. Fluorescent lights ran along the surface; the majority brightly lit, some dim, and one or two had gone out. A remarkably maintained environment for a supposedly abandoned building.

To Jennifer's right, with her back to the double doors, there was an electronically powered glass sliding door. The room beyond it was sunken in darkness and appeared empty. _Well, I know which way we're NOT heading. _To the left, the hallway stretched on for 35 yards. Three fourths of the way down it opened up on the right. Countless doors lined each side of the hall, all closed.

"I didn't think we would find a working one at first," Jennifer said. "But if the lights are on, and the hospital looks as good as it does, maybe we should look for a phone."

"Are we going to call the police this time?"

"We may have to," Jennifer replied. "Animal control would be outnumbered. Then again, I'm not sure what the cops would be able to do. I don't particularly care to be stuck in here, though. The place is giving me the creeps, already."

It_ was_ creepy. Hospital hallways were usually teeming with life. Patients being escorted to their rooms to be assessed; screaming in pain or arguing with doctors and nurses. Grieving and concerned loved ones pacing back and forth, waiting for an update from the medical staff. Such scenes unnerved Jennifer, yes, but they were welcome any day over the eerily quiet, still location.

"Let's go," Durrell pointed westward down the longer portion of the hallway. "For now we'll stay in the hallway and not enter a room unless we're sure there's a phone. Or someone who can help us. It would stink if security is keeping an eye out and we get shot for snooping inside of an office."

"Okay," Jennifer used a finger to wipe blood from under the wound on her head. She had to take care of it soon. An infection would be easy to catch in here. Durrell was right, though. For now they should stay in the hallways to avoid looking like vandals.

The couple followed the path to the intersection where, after a brief deliberation, they turned right. The hall here was shorter than the one they'd left. Along the walls on both sides were empty stretchers with white blankets strewn over the mattresses. Wooden doors were pinned behind the beds, inaccessible. At the end of the path, it branched off to the right and left, with a door ahead. A sign reading, "Nurses Station" was posted to the front of a wide, marble desk. On the other side of the desk against the wall were organizers filled with multi-colored papers. Medicines were sealed inside of plastic bags on top of some piles.

Jennifer approached the desk, cautiously, listening for any suspicious noises. She doubted she would be able to hear over the racket she and her boyfriend were making. In the silent environment, the sounds of their shoes were loud enough to wake the dead. Jennifer was also positive that anyone within a mile's proximity could hear her breathing. She'd learned to inhale and exhale through her nostrils. It made less noise and according to the so-called experts, was a healthier mode of respiration. The stress of the situation and her fear of the crows outside made it virtually impossible.

_Keep it together, girl. _Jennifer noticed that Durrell wasn't moving ahead with her. He'd stopped to observe the hallways to the right and left. Smiling, she recalled that that was another way in which they were an off couple. Complete opposites, yet there to build up what the other was lacking. He was always methodical, and temperate. Jennifer didn't have the patience to check every corner and crevice. Not her style. Reaching her destination, she put her palms on the desktop and leaned forward. Under the top was a lower level of the desk with papers and folders sprawled across it. In the midst of the mess sat a black telephone.

"Yes!" Jennifer rushed around the desk, startling Durrell, and scooped up the receiver. "We're getting out of here."

Holding the icy receiver to her ear, she punched in the digits 9-1-1. Prior to dialing the last number, her hopes dropped when she heard silence through the earpiece. No dial tone. She pressed down on the ringer several times, eliciting no response. _Nothing. _"Figures."

"No dial tone?" Durrell groaned.

"Of course not," Jennifer released the receiver in disgust. It fell on top of the desk and slid off where it hung, suspended in space by the wire. "What was I thinking?"

"Let's keep moving," Durrell muttered.

Jennifer turned and walked to the door behind the Nurses' Station. A thin, partly dusty window permitted a view of the region beyond. Another long hallway. _I hate this place, already. _She twisted the knob and shoved the door open. It immediately put pressure on her wrist so she pressed her shoulder against it and pushed again. Then she stepped past it and held it for Durrell to enter. He thanked her, and the two continued side by side, deeper into the hospital.

Midway down the hall, they saw a red arrow midway up the right wall pointing straight ahead. The white sign the arrow was attached to had black letters on it that read, "Chapel Entrance".

"Church in a hospital?" Jennifer asked.

"Yeah," Durrell nodded. "My friend's wife is going to Nursing School at the Our Lady of Lourdes in the next county. He told me they had a big Catholic Chapel inside. They went to one of the services before. He invited me but I was working then and couldn't go. You think it's open?"

"We'll see," Jennifer shrugged, eyeing Durrell curiously. "You want to go?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Durrell, in the middle of this empty, freaky, hospital, you want to stop for church?"

"Yeah. You know a better time to pray than in a place like this? At a time like now?"

Jennifer snickered, "Good point. If it's open, we can go."

Taking Jennifer's hand, Durrell jogged forward. The end of the hall presented them with dual options. To the left were plastic double doors with a picture of a staircase nailed to one. No need for stairs at the moment, although Durrell was sure they'd be heading that way eventually. He followed the trail to the right and gently led his girlfriend along. She wasn't resisting, nor was she obligingly going forward. For once it seemed as if she were the hesitant of the two. Considering the situation, that wasn't surprising. She believed in the same God that Durrell did, but she was aware that her lifestyle was contrary to His standards. As a result, she preferred to attend church as infrequently as possible. Regardless of what the sermon was about, she rarely exited the assembly with a clean conscience. It was an oppression she could do without.

The wall on the right opened into an alcove and Durrell turned to see a set of doors. He released her hand and strode toward them, pushing a door with each hand. Jennifer reluctantly trailed him, not desiring to be left alone for a second. They stepped into the gigantic chapel and she beheld it in awe. Eyes wide and lips parted.

"I've never seen one like this," She remarked.

Unimpressed by the sight, Durrell retreated to the last row of the set of pews to the left. There were two sets separated by a gap of seven or eight feet. A red carpet covered the floor, showing between and behind the pews. The pathway through the customary church seats went on for 15 yards, about 15 rows, to the anterior of the chapel. From where she stood, Jennifer couldn't see the details of that section. There was podium with a large book atop it, and a wooden stand complete with a trio of engraved candleholders. Taken aback by what was to her, otherworldly scenery, she was compelled to explore it.

"They don't make them like this anymore do they?" She glanced over her shoulder to see that Durrell already sitting, his head bowed over his knees. She raised an eyebrow, and returned her gaze to the room to take it all in while walking forward.

The ceiling seized her attention immediately, despite being the least breathtaking of the numerous sights. Its shape, like the entire room from an upward perspective, resembled an elongated sphere. The front and back were rounded and the center was rectangular. The walls had been conformed to the shape of the ceiling. Regal depictions of Jesus and Mother Mary were painted on the wall at the head of the chapel. The eyes of the Lord were piercing and sharp. His mother's were as soft as a doves', inviting. That was true to the Catholic religion which portrayed Christ as mean and angry, and His mother as loving and kind. The podium below the couple had the deep imprint of a cross on it. The inscription was rather plain, compared to the gold lining of the podium itself. Even the wooden stand's appearance was more appealing with silver stars etched into its sides. Silver and gold lettering of a foreign language, probably Latin, embellished the candleholders. _Someone removed the cross, leaving the hollow? Weird…_

Jennifer reached the front of the room and stepped up to the podium. The book there that she previously assumed to be a Bible, had a blank, thick cover. She reversed the position of the book and flipped it open. Letters, similar to those on the candleholders, were typed inside in a fancy font. An English translation of the words had been written directly underneath the foreign language. The book title, perhaps. "FEASTS OF THE GODS OF HASHSUPT"

_Okay, I don't read the Bible everyday, but… what the heck is a book about the gods of some weirdo doing in a chapel?_ Religious or not, that didn't sit well with Jennifer. She refrained from disturbing Durrell's prayer and looked to the west wall (the chapel door was north). A horizontal column of thirty glass paintings were built into the wood six feet above the ground. On a website Jennifer had seen an identical decoration showing the procession of Jesus bearing the cross, the crucifixion, and the resurrection. The colorful pictures before her eyes now were _not_ the gospel, however.

They were conveniently arrayed so that the picture closest to the front of the chapel was the first in sequential order. Jennifer started with it and walked along the wall, taking thirty seconds to observe each painting. Numbers framed the images on all sides, corresponding to their order. Alien names in silver lettering enclosed the numbers. The pictures themselves were of ancient, mythological beings as far as Jennifer could tell. Some showed beautiful women dancing before temples. A hideous deity typically watched the worshippers, sneering, sometimes leering with lust. Other gods danced themselves, or sat at tables eating meals with priests.

The further down the path of idolatry Jennifer went, the increasingly twisted the gods became. Human features disappeared and were replaced by monstrous beasts and demons. _How could anyone worship these things? _Cheetahs with the wings of eagles, eagles with the feet of cheetahs, a man's body paired with female breasts and a goat's head, a serpent sporting an American-Indian style headdress. The mismatched body parts were at least recognizable, in contrast to the inanely designed beings that corresponded with nothing in existence.

Shaking her head, Jennifer continued for five minutes until she paused in front of two pictures dedicated to the number 23. The same name and title were written around the frame, "Huitzilopochtli, lord of the tzitzimime / monsters descending from above". It was the only "god" to which two spots were given, and a translation provided for his name. He was obviously the highest revered of the twenty-nine deities. _Are they all the gods of Hashsupt?_

Huitzilopochtli's body was the shape and size of a man. He was no larger than the men and women worshipping him in the second picture. In the first, he wore a garb consisting of the skin and black fur of a hefty animal. His head was tucked under the top of the skin, and the upper half of his face was concealed by shadows. His mouth shone, and visible inside it were rows of long, sharp, lion's teeth. He was smiling, demonically bearing many of his fangs in the process. In his right hand he held a spear, and in the left a knife. The handle of the knife had a design carved into it but the detail was scarce. Still, it was oddly familiar. Too familiar for Jennifer's tastes.

The second image showed Huitzilopochtli, lord of the "monsters descending from above", sitting in a temple. He had shed the skin that hid his apparently inhuman physique. Massive bat wings were spread out behind his back, hung on arms and extended finger bones. The deity himself had scaly gray skin and bordering his face were talons connected to a leathery, wing-like apparatus behind its head. His eyes were closed, and he was smiling, enjoying the odor being lifted up to him from below. Two women and three men were at the bottom of the stairs of the temple, eating a man who seemed to still be alive. He was screaming, and lines were shown coming from him and drifting up into the monster's nostrils. _Disgusting. _The chapel was once a church, but had since been dedicated to something other than Jesus. Something distinctly evil.

"Durrell," Jennifer said, turning to him. "I don't think this is the type of place you want to pray in…"

The pew in the back on the other side of the chapel was empty. Durrell was gone. _Where did he go? Don't panic,_ Jennifer warned herself. He might have become emotional while praying and sunk to the floor. That wasn't uncommon for him. And the circumstances would drive any religious person to their knees in prayer. _But why didn't he respond? _He was probably caught up in talking to God. She often had to wait for him to finish saying grace prior to eating a meal together. He was in another world until he said "amen" and opened his eyes. _That's all._

"Durrell, I think we should leave the chapel," Jennifer walked through the pews and headed toward the place she had last seen him. "Seriously, I'm getting the creeps. Have you seen what's on the walls? They worship a god here, but not the one you have in mind, trust me."

Something heavy hit the ground behind her and Jennifer whirled around, her fists raised in a defensive posture. There wasn't anyone there but that noise was too loud to be her imagination. She searched the area for what had caused it until she located the likely culprit. Lying on its side was the podium. One of the silver stars was broken off and cracked down the center. The book of Hashsupt's feasts had landed with its bottom facing Jennifer. It was open to a page near the end. _What the? _Her heart began to pound a little harder inside the ribcage. _Don't try to tell me that was an accident._

"Durrell are you playing some kind of a game?" Jennifer asked, nervously glancing over her shoulder. The aisle and the chapel entrance/exit doors remained barren. She stepped toward the fallen podium and the book between her and the wooden object. Why on earth it was open _and_ in her direction was a mystery. _Or a clue? But where did he go in the first place? Durrell wouldn't play a joke in our circumstances._

Seconds later, Jennifer bent down and carefully grasped the edges of the book in her hands. She straightened her back and lifted it up from the floor. A painful twinge along her spine motivated her to stand faster, using her knees for support. The book was heavier than she thought and she struggled to maintain a grip. Securing it against her chest, she slipped a forearm underneath it and continued to hold one edge. Then she turned around to negate Durrell's opportunity to sneak up on her. And to keep anyone else from doing the same. _No, it's just him. Or someone to help you, not sneak up on you._

Lowering her eyes to the book's thick, yellow sheets, Jennifer read. The top of the page on the left was titled in bold font that jumped out at her. "FEAST TO HUITZILOPOCHTLI, THE LORD OF THE MONSTERS DESCENDING FROM THE SKY." Either a coincidental occurrence or the intentional design of… _who? Someone. _The venerated deity was apparently a main feature of the chapel. Jennifer didn't see any harm coming from reading up on the demon. The page was a continuation from the previous. It could be helpful to find and start on the first page that mentioned him. _Nah. _Her lone interest in the book was the possibility of its falling being a sign.

Huitzilopochtli, the greatest of the winged monsters, the gods, who descended from the great sky. He and the many ranks of gods with him were defeated and cast out of the kingdom. Now the territories of his followers are his kingdom. And the mighty warrior god has promised the most devout of his people that they too, shall be elevated to the status of the gods one day. And when he has regained his strength, he will return to the sky and defeat the evil gods who now reign in his place. Yet, that will never happen without the obedience of you who love Huitzilopochtli to keep his feasts. And all the requirements must be met with the strictest compliance. Not one of his commands may be missing, and you shall not fail to carry them out on time.

The god Huitzilopochtli is fighting battles in the heavens, in the astral world, against the most brutal, evil, and powerful gods known. He is armed with the best of the weapons that mankind has created, and is as strong as any god on the battlefield. Yet, the constant wars weaken Huitzilopochtli. He must retire to his temple to rest every 23 years, for 23 full days. At the conclusion of those days, he returns to the heavens to take up his quest to regain the kingdom. His kingdom. Our kingdom.

Huitzilopochtli, without equal on earth or among the gods, has thus commanded me regarding his feasts, "Every 23 years, in accordance with the day that I was first recognized among the people, 2323 B.C.; every 23 years, you shall hold a feast to Huitzilopochtli, your god. I have not ceased to fight against the gods who seek your destruction. I tell you truly, if not for me, earth would be a wasteland, and all of your souls trapped outside of the paradise. Therefore, since I have stood up on your behalf, you shall worship me as the god who fights for you, the god who defends you. This is the thing that you shall do:

"You shall wait until the spring of the 23rd year, counting from 2323 B.C., for spring is when I take my rest. You shall enter my temple at that time with sacrifices prepared to appease me. I will require as many men, as many women, and as many children as you may find. Bring them alive into my temple and lie them down, one by one on my altar. You shall brandish a sword, or a knife, in the sight of the sacrifice. When they become fearful, then lift them up that I may smell the sacrifice of their fear. The aroma of fear is pleasing to me. Then I will show you a sign, to let you know whom I have chosen to be sacrificed to me. Those who I choose, you shall cut out their hearts. Take half of the heart for you to eat, and the other half you shall burn with fire on my altar. I will consume the heart that I may live long, and not die when I fight for you. Cut off the hand of the victim; then eat half of the hand, and give the other half to me, for me to consume. Then I will gain strength" –

_Human sacrifice and cannibalism? _Jennifer decided that she'd had enough and dropped the book on the floor. It landed heavily with a _thud_ that reverberated throughout the chapel. The painted windows on the west side rattled and the sound echoed several times. Jennifer stepped over the book and walked toward the exit doors. She peeked into the rows of each pew, checking for a clue as to Durrell's whereabouts. All she saw was the spotless red carpet. The back row where he'd sat was also empty. _Gone._

"Durrell!" Jennifer called.

Her voice echoed off of the room's walls and ceiling. There was no response, otherwise. She cupped her hands around the sides of her mouth and yelled again, "Durrell, where did you go?"

She hoped he was playing a trick on her, as unlikely as that was. Obviously, he was no longer inside the chapel. That left the question, however, of why he had left so suddenly and without a sound. He hadn't bothered to warn her that he was leaving. It made no sense unless she considered the possibility that he hadn't willingly departed. Maybe they weren't alone in the hospital after all. Even then, Durrell was a tough kid. He was too strong for anyone to drag off without a sound. At least she hoped so.

Jennifer stood in front of the entrance/exit doors briefly to determine her next course of action. She wanted to search the hallways. Yet in the back of her mind she was worried that he would return to the chapel looking for her. Staying put might be the wisest option until she figured out what was going on. A rustling noise from behind provoked Jennifer to turn around to see the podium. The book was lying open with the pages turning gently on their own; as if blown in a faint wind. _No way I'm waiting in here._

She pulled one of the chapel doors open and stepped into the hallway. She was immediately greeted by a gust of cool air. The breeze swept across her face and blew through her long hair. It felt good to be out of that room. Jennifer would prefer the guilt she underwent in normal churches to the oppressive, suffocating feel of the hospital's chapel. The cooling effect of the draft on her skin was exaggerated because of the heat that had gathered inside the place of worship. Oddly, she only noticed the beads of sweat on her forehead subsequent to exiting.

Ahead was a lengthy hallway with openings on either side. In the distance, Jennifer could see daylight pouring through glass double doors. _Thank God – an exit! _Her hope faded instantly when she saw what was waiting on the other side of the glass. Parked ten feet away from the doors was a medium sized red jeep. Jennifer's eyesight was 20/20 the last time she had her eyes checked. That enabled her to tell that the vehicle was either new, or had been well maintained since its purchase. The paint was intact and gave a shine to the visible parts. Black crows covered most of the jeep's roof and bumper. Dozens more of the damned birds stood on the ground surrounding it as if it were a trophy. Some pecked feverously on the hospital doors, trying hard to find a way in.

It wasn't like Jennifer was going to leave without her boyfriend, anyway. No reason to allow that blocked exit to upset her now. Sighing miserably, she walked out of the alcove leading to the chapel entrance and headed left. Upon passing it, she glanced down the hallway that she and Durrell had come from. Barren. And no signs that he'd gone in that direction. He had taken one of two paths and backtracking wasn't his style. Nor was disappearing but Jennifer let that go. The staircase at the end of the hall was her current destination. _Then what smart girl? _That was one of several questions she had no answer to.

Upon nearing the plastic double doors, Jennifer noticed something that she hadn't earlier. The yellow sign posted on them depicted a staircase and an arrow pointing to the left. A single door was almost hidden in the corner where the arrow indicated. For some reason, finding and taking the stairs seemed like the best idea. She tried the handle and, surprised that it actually turned, pushed the door aside while stepping across the threshold.

The lighting in the next hallway wasn't as generous as the previous ones were. All of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling were either dim or had burned out. Those currently working flickered as if they would go off at any moment. They managed to provide an adequate amount of illumination, enabling Jennifer to see thirty feet into the hall. She froze, keeping one hand on the knob of the door she had come through. What she saw weakened her knees. She shifted her weight to lean on her trembling arm, her palm grinding into the steel doorknob.

Two gurneys were against the walls opposite each other ten feet beyond the doorway. Distinctly human forms lied underneath white sheets strewn over the mattresses. They were identical to what the demon had used to contain the bodies in the van. Similarly, dried blood stained the area concealing the face of one of the corpses. Two feet past it, another gurney was set up with the head of the bed adjusted so that it came out into the hallway. Less than three feet of space remained between it and the next bed. _Oh, goodness…_ the four weren't alone. The entire hallway, as far as she could perceive, was littered with gurneys.

_Forget the stairs, then. _Jennifer turned to leave when the lights in the hallway she had exited flickered and died, leaving her escape route enveloped in black. The darkness was like a thick, impenetrable wall. Seconds passed and Jennifer waited for her eyes to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. _Ten… fifteen…_ it wasn't happening. She held her free hand up two feet in front of her face, hoping to make it out. Not even the motion was detectable.

Frowning, she turned back to the new hallway which was still remotely lit. The lights continued to flicker, threatening to go out and pitch Jennifer into complete darkness. _Well, what are you going to do now? _She had the option of staying put. The lights might return later if she was patient enough. The more time she wasted though, the worse the condition of the working lights could become. Then she wouldn't be able to see a thing. To avoid that she would have to walk through the bodies lining the hallway. _What will be worse? Going past dead people laying on stretchers, or sitting around in a pitch black doorway? _The nagging thought that the people under the sheets weren't dead hindered what would normally be a quick decision. What if someone was purposely lying there to hide… awaiting an opportunity to ambush her?

_Get real. Besides, the longer it takes you to make up your mind, the more likely these lights will go out. _Jennifer wasn't going to stick around for that to occur. Besides, Durrell might be depending on her to find him. She took a deep breath, balled her hands into tight fists, and set her attention on the hallway. The corpses under the sheets remained unmoving. Lifeless. _What's wrong with you, Jennifer? You've seen corpses before. There's no difference._

She cautiously stepped forward, surveying the bodies to watch for a reaction. Whether she admitted it or not, there was a considerable difference. Like the average person, she had always had a primal fear of hospitals. Her childhood, unlike Durrell's, wasn't replete with visits to doctors and overnight stays in a facility. She did everything within her power to avoid a trip there, even when she was sick or in pain. As an adult those fears hadn't lost a bit of their nauseating grip on her. She had pushed them to the back of her mind, but now they returned with a vengeance, reminding her of everything about the locations that frightened her.

Amidst the logical concerns was the presence of the corpses themselves. The B. Wesley Hospital was abandoned ten years ago according to Claire. The absence of patients, doctors, nurses, and cars in the parking lot supported her claims. Yet, the power in forsaken buildings wasn't left running without supervision. Jennifer was sure that she'd seen the majority of the ground level of the hospital. Every hallway and room had been lit… until now, that was. And the fluorescent lights had flickered prior to going out. They were not purposely shut off.

More unsettling, was the preposterous idea that an abandoned building had fresh corpses inside. She had never been in a room with a long dead body, but she knew the smell had to be horrible. The demon's truck had reeked of rotten flesh. The putrid, horrible odor lingered in her nostrils during the 45 minutes she spent carrying Durrell. It had found a way to cling to her nose hairs, or dig itself into the pores of her skin to torment her. The damp, clammy air of the hallway had no specific odor. She smelled dust and what would be expected in an old structure. That was it. Whatever was under the sheets hadn't died that long ago. Unless they were dummies.

_You're the dummy if you believe that. _Jennifer's eyes fell to the gurney sticking out into the middle of the floor. She turned her own body sideways and estimated the space between it and the corpse on the opposite side of the wall. Two and a half feet. This was one occasion where she was relieved she had not taken Grandma Doreen's advice to gain weight. The semi-humorous mental note failed to bring a smile to her face. She couldn't find a silver lining in this situation. Not surrounded by death and having to literally squeeze through it to advance.

She sucked her stomach in and rose to the tips of her toes to make herself less obtrusive. Then she slowly tip toed in the midst of the corpses, taking one sidestep at a time. _Don't look down and you'll be okay. Don't look down. _Jennifer heard a faint rustling and glanced down to the body in front of her. The shape of the head was _wrong_. Foreheads usually protruded at least a couple of inches, and noses were easily recognizable. This particular head appeared sunken in – like it was missing the top part of its face and head. Instead, mangled flesh and bone pressed on the white sheet from underneath. _Gross._

A loud "caw" startled Jennifer and she whirled around to see where the sound had emanated from. In the process, forgetting that she was on her toes, she stumbled into the gurney behind her. She realized what she was touching and wrenched away. Her belt caught on the steel frame supporting the mattress and it overturned as she pulled. The entire stretcher fell toward her and Jennifer screamed. Her full bodyweight tore her from the bed's grasp and she hit the ground, hard.

The moment her body collided with the cold surface, she pushed up to her hands and knees. If the birds were inside the hotel she had to move quickly. Preparing to launch herself to her feet, Jennifer glanced down and paused. The overturned gurney had dumped the corpse onto the floor beside her. It was now only partially covered by the sheet. The waist was tangled in the fabric, exposing the head and torso. _Oh, no…_

Ben. His bloodshot, frightened eyes bore into Jennifer's. They were unmoving and lifeless but retained the terror he must have experienced in his final seconds. His mouth was a gaping oval, frozen in a scream that had begun and never ended. A shriek of pain that his murderer cut off abruptly. His tongue rested on the row of teeth in the bottom of his mouth.

A twinge of heartache caused Jennifer to close her eyes and turn her head aside. She hadn't bothered with the futile thought that Ben had somehow survived his encounter with the demon. Seeing his corpse confronted her with the awful truth that she'd ignored. She had been far too consumed with her own survival and Durrell's wellbeing to think about the former gang leader. He was an evil man, yes, and a cold-blooded murderer. Yet, despite that, there was hope for him prior to tonight. The possibility that he would repent of his lifestyle and live a clean life. Not anymore. His girlfriend and children would never have the pleasure of experiencing that.

God only knew what the demon had done to him. Checking him again, she observed that the torso of his body bore no fatal injuries. The leather jacket he wore earlier was nowhere to be seen, and he was left in a black wife beater (tank top). Three bloody scratches had torn off diagonal strips of skin and flesh from his upper chest. Nasty-looking wounds, but they hadn't killed him. He was too tough for that. It had done something else probably far more gruesome. _Sorry we couldn't do anything, Ben. _Was the scream his mouth was suspended in the same one she and Durrell heard in the forest? _Doesn't matter._

"Take care, buddy," Jennifer patted him on the shoulder. She cringed upon the contact of her fingers with his icy cold skin. He was lifeless. Soulless.

_Have to go on… keep moving. _Jennifer ripped her eyes away and stood. A deep breath later, and she continued walking along the narrow path of the hallway. Nervousness motivated her to move with increased speed. If Ben's body was here then that meant that the monster had brought him. And maybe it was still there. Had it snatched Durrell right out of the chapel when she was distracted? _No, not likely. It could have killed us both with ease and probably would have provided the opportunity presented itself. So what did happen?_

_What if Durrell is dead?_ Jennifer refused to dwell on such distressing thoughts. She would be overcome with despair otherwise. Durrell had been her sanctuary from the hectic and dangerous life of a gang member. He was her best friend, and the man she wanted to marry one day. With him gone, how on earth could she ever go on? _You won't have to, he's alive. _Regardless, she was unaccompanied and forsaken like the hospital was supposed to be.

Jennifer was alone, wandering the great halls of a gigantic building. She had heard of claustrophobia – the fear of being trapped in an enclosed or confined space. Some of her friends had it and she'd watched them panicking as they approached elevators. She found it silly, ridiculous even. She refrained from mocking them since she harbored irrational fears of her own. Durrell and her close friend Lydia were among the handful of people, other than her doctor, who were aware of her condition.

The doctor had diagnosed it as an acute form of agoraphobia. Agoraphobia was the linear opposite of claustrophobia. It was the fear of public or large open spaces. At fourteen years old, a couple of months prior to dropping out of school, she had stayed after for detention. She then met with a friend who offered to share a pack of cigarettes under a staircase. Jennifer had fallen asleep and awoke in the night. Her friend had disappeared and she was by herself. She got up and walked the barren halls of the school for five minutes. Then she passed out and a janitor discovered her and called an ambulance.

Young Jennifer had suffered a panic attack due to the stress of being left alone. There was something about a massive building with no one else in sight that troubled her. The prospect of someone or something lurking around the corner was part of it. Having to face juvenile fears, isolated from humanity, was a chilling concept. In the hospital, her only company was the dead. The idling corpses lying on their temporary resting places. Awaiting what? A burial? What plans did the demon have in store for his victims?

_Right, try to get inside the mind of a demon._ Oddly, however, she had the sense that she did understand his motive in choosing the hospital. It was a house of death, as far as many people were concerned. Jennifer was personally turned off by the fact that numerous patients entered the facilities seeking help and some of them never left alive. She heard a story from a friend in school that permanently scarred her perception of hospitals. The girl's grandfather had visited one with minor problems and ended up with bed sores due to neglect. They were disgusting wounds that sometimes went as deep as the bone. Incidents like that weren't commonplace and 90 percent of doctors and nurses were very competent. The stigma remained, though. And in the midst of an already tense situation, that haunted Jennifer further.

The light ten feet ahead blinked off and on, and she glanced up at it. It blinked again and then stayed on to her relief. She wiped sweat off of her forehead with the back of a hand and continued. The end of the hall came and she halted to consider her next set of choices. There was an elevator in the wall twenty feet from where she stood. Positioned ominously in front of it was a final body covered with a white sheet. Two doors were on the right and left side of the hall, directly across from each other. The one on the left had an image of a staircase on it. The difference was that the arrow was pointing up. Turning to her third option, the door to the right, she saw a yellow, triangular sign with a black stick figure wearing a skirt in its center. A restroom.

_I used the bathroom at the hotel. No need for it now. _She started to head to the left when she noticed dim light seeping through the crack under the bathroom door. Would any harm result from her peeking in? If there were additional corpses inside, then yes. She doubted that was the case and walked up to the door. Reaching it, Jennifer wrapped one hand around the knob while leaning close to press an ear against the wood. A quiet, methodical dripping could be heard – that was it. Did that mean someone was there? Unlikely. Old bathrooms made sounds all the time.

Jennifer dragged the door open and it creaked on its hinges while moving. She gritted her teeth. Anyone nearby would hear it as loud as it was. The noise itself was grating. Irritating. Had she pulled any harder it might have broken and fallen on top of her.

Light poured into the hallway with the door out of the way and Jennifer stepped across the threshold. To her left was a row of old stalls; some of the doors hung open and others were closed. A mirror was nailed to the far wall above a white, peeling sink. Drops of water fell from the faucet every few seconds to disappear down the drain.

Raising her eyes, Jennifer walked forward to stand in front of the mirror. The rest of the room remained silent and motionless, making her confident that she wasn't putting herself in danger. She took advantage of the temporary peace to examine herself in the glass. Despite the mirror being smeared with dust particles, she could see her reflection in relative clarity. Sweat had glued her curly hair to her cheeks and her bangs were lower than usual. The blonde highlights on the top of her head and over her ear were mingled with blood. The stickiness of the liquid had caused several strands to cling together. No signs of the exhaustion she felt showed on her face.

A compulsion led Jennifer to grab the lone handle and turn it clockwise. At first nothing happened so she continued to twist it. The sink jumped and emitted a _pop,_ and water came gushing out of the faucet. She briefly inspected it and when she didn't see anything except clean water, she cupped her hands and held them tightly together in the sink. They rapidly filled with water and she splashed it up into her face. Jennifer washed her face daily but it had never been so refreshing. She used a second and third handful to pour water on her head. The liquid loosened her hair and removed a little of the blood. Grateful for the small reprieve, she shut the faucet off and turned around.

Shaking her head to dispel some of the water now dripping from her hair, she drew near the exit where two pieces of paper caught her eyes. One was an old newspaper clipping. The article didn't contain a date but it was obviously very old. Each corner was notably wrinkled and the light gray page had yellowed. The title read, "St. Wesley Hospital accused of Organ Theft and Occult Practices." _The title alone explains that chapel._

Three inches to the right of the paper clipping, a white piece of construction paper had been tacked to the wall. The white tacks held it up in a landscape position by each of the four corners. Words written in thin black marker covered the entire page, and it appeared to be relatively fresh. As if someone had made the message recently. The author had also apparently made sure that all he or she had to say fit within the margins. Though legible, the handwriting was somewhat small with the letters bunched together. Since the article was roughly half a page, Jennifer decided to read the words on the other paper first:

Remember HIS WORDS: If you walk in My statutes and keep My commandments, and perform them… I will give peace in the land, and you shall lie down, and none will make you afraid; I will rid the land of **evil beasts**. / If you walk contrary to Me, and are not willing to obey Me… I will also send wild beasts among you, which shall rob you of your children – and make you few in number, and your highways shall be desolate. I will also send against them the teeth of beasts.

Her curiosity peaked, she moved her eyes to the article and read it as well.

SHADY DAWN – The award winning St. Wesley Hospital is once again making headlines in controversial fashion. Last month Doctor Todd Hines' wife Peggy filed for a divorce and charged her husband with adultery and Satanism. The couple attends the largest Christian church in Erie County, the Presbyterian Fellowship Center. Hines was promoted to the position of deacon a mere week prior to his wife's accusations. An investigation by church leaders led to his promotion being revoked, and his membership with the church cancelled.

Three days ago, police began questioning the followers of one of Shady Dawn's ancient religions, Cephar Shiqquwts, in connection to purported incidents that have occurred in the St. Wesley Hospital. 34 year old Kelly Holcomb alleges that her son dislocated his left patella and was taken by ambulance to the emergency room last Monday night. It has been confirmed that the medical staff held him two extra nights under observation. Holcomb claims that when her son was released, he reported feeling ill. He died Friday and an autopsy revealed that one of his kidneys had been surgically removed. Complications during the procedure more than likely caused his death, said the examiner. Other former patients have come forward, professing that they were abused or had unnecessary extractions performed at the hospital. Some say that relatives have disappeared, although records do not concur. Jason Todd, a 23 year old nursing student, claimed that he awoke in his hospital room one night and heard chanting nearby. When he investigated, he said he witnessed several people in black robes in the next room standing over a young child. The following morning, the child in the room, Room 203 died. A 12 year old boy did pass away due to a failed transplant that evening. Todd, a known prankster, is a questionable source.

The controversy has brought forward thirty-seven patients and witnesses who claim that weird activity is taking place in the St. Wesley Hospital. It was dedicated to the saint who evangelized the mostly pagan town in 1810. Followers of the Cephar religion were hired in the hospital two years ago, which caused an uproar among townspeople. The religion's past is rooted in human sacrifice and the worship of decidedly sadistic Aztec and Mayan gods. It originated in Biblical times, around 2400 B.C. according to experts. One of its priests, Dr, Elliot Keiser, said this regarding the claims, "Our great gods did demand of their followers things that are now obsolete. Enemy warriors who attacked the camps of the Aztecs were often captured alive, and held. All armies kill on the battle field, even in Judaism. We, however, held our enemies captive since their lives had been delivered to us, and sacrificed them to our gods. That even happened in the Bible (editorial note: when asked for a reference, Keiser could not recall. Unbiased scholars say this is an outright lie and there is no basis for it). It is simple ignorance that causes people to fear us today. We are not at war with anyone, nor are those things allowed in the modern United States. Today, they are not considered civil. Now, we sacrifice our hearts to our gods, especially our great god Huitzilopochtli." The investigation is ongoing.

The name Huitzilopochtli was highlighted by pale blue marker. After bumping into Ben's body, Jennifer guessed that the demon itself had altered the chapel. Now she was positive that the dedicated followers of the Cephar religion had done it. She wondered how the devout Catholics and Christians had reacted to that. Must have been interesting days to be living in Shady Dawn. The allegations of the patients were unsettling, whether they were accurate or not. Stepping past the article and out into the hallway, Jennifer glanced at the bodies on the gurneys. _Had the creature brought them here or did followers of Huitzilopochtli?_

As curious as Jennifer was, she was content to leave the hospital and never find out. Rolling her eyes, she crossed the hall to the door with the sign for the stairs posted on it. She opened it, and advanced onto a rectangular platform that was part of a stairway. The area was lit by a caged light bulb in the wall to her right, across from the stairs going upward. Another set of stairs, right in front of her, descended into the Basement – if the sign at the bottom of the flight was truthful. An arrow beside the word pointed to the right where the rest of the lower platform was hidden. _There definitely won't be anything in the basement helpful to me. That's where the crematorium is located, I think. Not where I want to be. _She gathered her wits to prepare for whatever challenges or sights might lie ahead. Then she ascended the stairs.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

_Where am I?_ Durrell struggled through the throbbing pain in his head to regain awareness. Once the headache let up, he was hoping his senses would inform him of exactly where he was, or at the very least give him some idea. Currently he was clueless, and frightened by the few indications provided by his barely functioning senses.

He had opened his eyes seconds ago to a blanket of darkness. Waving the pale side of his hand two inches in front of his face had brought some relief. He wasn't able to make out a form but his eyes picked up the movement. On a positive note, that meant he wasn't blind. Unfortunately, it also confirmed his detainment in a sealed off room that allowed almost no light inside. After ten seconds, he had closed his eyes again and lowered his chin to his chest. _How about focusing on what little you DO know?_

Durrell was sitting with his back to what felt like a stone wall. He had returned to consciousness in that position and hadn't bothered to move from it yet. Not until he figured out what was happening. Raising his left arm, he dragged the back of his hand along the surface of the wall behind him. Smooth stone rubbed across his skin, verifying his previous assumption. There weren't any jagged edges or bumps within his reach. _No doorknobs, either. _He dejectedly dropped his hand to the floor.

In the distance, somewhere beyond his location, the faint sound of crackling flames was audible. It was either further off than it seemed, or his suspicions were correct and he was in a sealed room. Fire had to be somewhere on the other side of one of these walls, which wasn't a comforting consideration. His forehead, hair, and shirt were drenched in sticky sweat. An attempt to wipe it away from his face was futile. The cooling liquid continued to leak through the pores of his skin. It occasionally caught in his eyelids on its way down to his chin – off of which it was dripping steadily onto his shirt.

_Man, it's hot as…_ Durrell caught himself. The word had already come to his mind more than once since he awoke. He didn't want to brood over it, or else he risked driving himself insane. Following numerous brushes with death, however, it was quite possibly his location. And a deserved one at that. To his dismay, taking into account his environment, it made perfect sense. He couldn't see too well, and there was fire nearby. It wasn't close enough to cause him serious harm yet, but it was closer than he was comfortable with.

An odor reminiscent of burning flesh drifted into his nose. The breeze stung in his nostrils and he exhaled through them to push it out. _Smoke seeping into this room? _Maybe. If so then there had to be an opening. A way out of what was now becoming his personal hell. That was in the case that he wasn't in the actual home of the damned itself. Right now, he couldn't deny or affirm that.

Rolling his head back to rest the base of his skull against the wall, Durrell opened his eyes and stared into the abyss before him. It appeared empty. Yet he was slightly alarmed by the prospect of someone or something watching him. With the poor conditions, he wouldn't be able to see anyone even if they were less than two feet away. Unless his spectator had supernatural sight capabilities then he was invisible as well. He also suspected that if he had been abducted, he would have been dead already. Why go through the trouble of knocking him out only to leave him untied in a room? _If that didn't happen, then where am I and what's going on?_

The creature that had pursued him and Jennifer on the road might have caught up. Despite being inhuman, it had a personality that heightened Durrell's fear of falling prey to it. Dying at the hands of a wild beast or a person was much more preferable than enduring whatever it had in store for him. Animals attacked people for food or in implicit self defense. They didn't play around with those that they killed, and they certainly didn't sow them up. That was a distinctly evil quality sometimes found in the most demented humans. And that thing out there was pure evil.

The sense that Durrell got from it, was that it enjoyed taking life. It likewise seemed to savor the hunt. He knew it probably had the speed to chase them down earlier, even after tripping and losing ground. For whatever reason, the demon was content to throw a dagger and injure Durrell. The aim of its launch was too perfect to be a miss. He was sure that it intended to hurt him without leaving a fatal wound. That would send the message that he wasn't safe regardless of how far away he traveled. If that were true, then he had no doubt the evil being would trap him inside a room to afflict him. Perhaps, to save him for a later, more painful demise.

Surprisingly, he was more disturbed by the possibility of being alone than he was by the company of an adversary – human or otherwise. The demon had an overwhelming presence that could be felt from miles away. Durrell doubted he could sit in the same room with it and not know. He was almost positive that he was solitarily confined. What comfort he might have experienced from that realization was snuffed out by his aching heart. There was one person he would give everything to see just once more. Jennifer.

He had the notion that that opportunity had passed and would not provide itself to him again. There was no one else to blame but himself. Upon entering the chapel he had immediately sat down to pray. Prayer was something that, at the time, he thought he should have committed himself to sooner. He didn't regret his decision to seek God. What bothered him now, sitting alone in this black prison cell, was that he had actually _ignored_ Jennifer when she spoke to him. He also forgot to extend an invitation for her to join him. Regardless of the fact that she was likely to decline, as she often did, he shouldn't have excluded her.

That was a part of Durrell's personality that Jennifer had adapted to early in the relationship. Instead of informing the people around him of what he was planning to do, especially in emotionally strenuous situations, he acted instantly on his impulses. Then he expected others to either remain quiet or automatically figure out what he was doing. He never knew why - it was just something he had always done as far back as he could remember. No one asked, fortunately, so he never had to explain why.

In the chapel he was overcome by what he had thought was the aura of a holy place. He'd seen similar rooms in the past, therefore the sight wasn't as impressive to him as it had been to his girlfriend. It did comfort and calm him to the point that he believed it was a safe house for prayer. He had gotten out a few heartfelt sentences when someone grabbed him from behind. The person trapped him in a bear hug while a third hand clamped over his mouth. There wasn't adequate time to do anything to warn Jennifer as he was yanked off the pew, and dragged from the chapel. The last image he saw before the door closed was Jennifer in the front of the room facing in the other direction.

Although he wanted to ignore it, he couldn't escape the notion that that was the final depiction of her he would ever have. She had been standing with her hands on her hips, staring up at the wall painting of Jesus and Mary. Her blonde and black hair was still tainted by the blood the crows had drawn from her head. Imagining it now reminded Durrell of how much he appreciated the simple things of life while in her presence. She credited him with teaching her to do the same.

Prior to their relationship, her involvement in the gang had encompassed her entire life. She had willingly forgotten the majority of her years up until she left her father's house. Recently, the few times she mentioned the past, she admitted that her childhood recollections came in scattered visions. Nearly her entire existence revolved around violence and survival, a common convention in the lives of gangsters. As a result, Durrell had spent months trying to wean her away from her mindset.

A few months ago in October they had been standing on the outside porch of his sixth floor apartment. The porch was fenced in for safety, and lacked furniture, yet maintained its appeal. The couple's attention had been raptured by the perfect view of the setting sun. Barely showing through the thick clouds surrounding it, the orange globe managed to illuminate them with brilliant purple and orange colors. Tall trees in the distance added to the beautiful display.

Jennifer had watched sunsets before, but had never understood why people were so enamored with them. On that day, thanks to her boyfriend, it became perfectly clear. With the Hood's matters not dominating her thoughts she was able to relax. That allowed her to truly take pleasure in the fading warmth of the sun and its departing visuals. Durrell stood behind her, his arms enclosing her torso, hands clasped over her upper stomach, enjoying the aroma of her hair. Though it was a little less than sixty degrees out, he was content due to Jennifer's warm hands covering his own.

"Thanks for bringing me up here," She said, watching the backdrop in genuine awe. "Why did you wait 3 years to let me in on it?"

"I've wanted to for the longest time but I couldn't for two reasons," Durrell replied, speaking quietly to avoid startling her and spoiling the moment. The last few minutes had passed in relative silence. "I had to work up the courage to ask Grandma Darlene if I could bring you up here. It's not every day that you'd ask your grandma about bringing a girlfriend up for something like this."

"She was okay with it?"

"Of course she was. You know she loves you to death. The last girlfriend I had could have cared less about my Grandma, and she wasn't the type to hide it. You've always shown respect. That impressed her from the beginning."

"See, not all of the 'straight' people have manners," Jennifer retorted. "And I bet that last girlfriend was some preppy, stuck up, white girl."

"Why does she have to be all that?"

"Dude, I know your type," Jennifer said, altering her voice to tease him.

They both laughed.

"Grandma did tell me not to spend more than two minutes inside the apartment itself," Durrell stated. "She trusts both of us, but wants me to be careful. We're not allowed to stay in there until she gets back from seeing my niece."

"Do you trust yourself?"

"Part of me says that I could be alone with you in there and not do anything. Common sense says not to even put myself in the situation to be tempted. Especially not since we've made it this far. It's only a matter of time, I think…"

"I'm ready whenever you are," Jennifer realized what he meant and lowered her eyes to the naked ring finger of her left hand. "I never considered myself as a married woman. I figured at worst, I'd die with a bullet in my head by age twenty-five. At best I'd die around eighty with two hundred cats as my only companions."

Durrell laughed, again.

"But that was before I knew that someone like you was really out there. Someone who wasn't just interested in me because of my looks. And someone who wouldn't let what I do get in the way of us. Or be the focal point."

"Well…"

"If you had told me a few years ago that I would be honest and open up to the truth about me, and that we would be together after all this time – I would have laughed in your face. Me actually falling in love was a long shot as it was. With a preacher boy on top of that… and one who seriously sticks to his convictions - impossible."

"What do you mean?"

"How many people do you think would be standing out here with a cozy couch a few feet away? And one that will probably be empty for the next thirty minutes?"

"Got you."

"I like that. It assures me that if you can be that faithful to an invisible God, then I won't have to spend a second worrying about you later on. You're one of very few people that I can trust."

"I'll do my best not to misplace it," He sighed, blissfully.

Jennifer relaxed her body, leaving her weight pressing into the strong form of her boyfriend. Though surprised by the sudden increase of her weight, Durrell adapted immediately. He stood firmly, planting his feet in the ground, and tightened his hold on her. She was secured, and not going anywhere despite being off balance. If he moved suddenly she would hit the ground and hard. Utterly aware that he wouldn't permit that, she leaned her head back to rest it on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

His vision was partly obscured by her hair, but the smile playing across her pink lips was evident. In that facial expression alone he read her love, her dependency, and the one thing she had lacked all her life. A real sense of security. The confidence of being in the hands of someone who would never fail her or let her down. He had always had that pleasure, and was overjoyed to supply her with it as well.

"I don't deserve this, but I'm going to enjoy it, anyway," Jennifer remarked, dreamily. "Is that wrong?"

"I don't deserve half of what I have. It doesn't bother me, because that's what grace is for."

"I like the sound of it," She grinned. "But honestly, hell is about the only thing I deserve right now."

"Well, if I can help it, you'll never be close to it. Deserved or not."

A once cherished memory currently haunted Durrell as he sat in the darkness. Any other day, recalling one of the few occasions that he had to appreciate Jennifer's company brought relief. The reflections ordinarily filled him with hope for the future and a greater desire to succeed in all walks of life. Now, it added to his torment with the realization that he would never enjoy those moments again. They would continually haunt him throughout his eternity.

The pungent odor of burning human flesh replaced the scent of her long, soft hair. Instead of her warm hands, he was heated by flames in a distant room. They were far away, yet close enough for him to hear the crackling quite clearly. The fiery sound was a menacing substitute for the voice he so longed to hear whenever the phone rang. Jennifer's confident, yet tender tone often sent chills down his spine. He loved her more than any other human being on the face of the earth.

_I hope she is on the face of the earth, and not in this place with me_,Durrell thought, mournfully, as he opened his eyes to a darkened sky. He had been taken out of the tiny room while reliving that precious moment with Jennifer. The dream was so authentic that he was close to being fooled into believing he had gone back in time. Unfortunately not, and it was too late.

He was sitting cross legged on a hard, yet unsteady surface that repetitively tilted from side to side. Reaching behind himself, Durrell attempted to use to wall to keep still. His hands went through empty space and he began to fall backwards. He fought for balance, but it was as if a black hole was pulling on his body, drawing him into the depths of the unknown. Although he couldn't see it, he knew he didn't want to fall in whatever was below him. _Can't get my balance, though…_

A pale hand reached out of nowhere and grabbed his shirt, holding his torso suspended over the space. Turning away from the hand, Durrell peered down into what he had been momentarily saved from. A source of dim lighting overhead revealed that the object he sat in was surrounded by black water. The dark liquid seemed to bubble and churn before his eyes. _Maybe it's not water after all. _It emitted no odor, unless the burning flesh he smelled was coming from underneath the waves. Looking at the substance, he wouldn't discount that just yet.

To his relief, the hand that had latched onto his shirt pulled him up into a seated posture. His eyes adjusted to the darkness enough for him to briefly observe the one who had saved him. A woman stood a few feet away shrouded in a long hooded robe. Only the white skin of her face remained uncovered by the apparel. She was in her mid to late thirties he presumed, with dull, lifeless, blue eyes. They were set at the top of high cheek bones which added appeal to an otherwise plain face. Her face narrowed gradually on the way down to the small chin. Two inches above her chin, she had thin, bluish lips, pressed tightly together.

The woman held his gaze for ten seconds prior to releasing him. Then she turned to face the front of the slender canoe-like boat they occupied. The hand she had rescued him with joined the other in grasping the handle of an eight foot long paddle, already in the water. Compared to the rowing instrument, she was a short, slight woman of slender composition. After carefully adjusting her grip on the tool's shaft, she dipped the blade into the murky liquid. In a single powerful sweep, the boat was propelled ahead five or six feet. The second rowing motion, accompanied by a current, caused them to pick up additional speed.

_What the hell? _He wanted to ask her what was happening, where they were, and of the utmost concern, where they were headed. The woman's stance had not been threatening and her facial expression, similarly, gave the impression of neutrality. Still, there was something that bothered Durrell about her, and he decided not to speak yet. He instead shifted forward on the boat, causing it to rock gently. After waiting for it to calm to ensure he wouldn't fall again, he turned to peer over his right shoulder.

Hundreds of feet off, land was visible. Torches in the wall of a great cavern directly above Durrell's head didn't reach far enough to illuminate the land beyond the shore. The sticks were wedged into the jagged rocks and crevices of the ceiling. Large, impenetrably opaque holes were opened here and there along the surface. On the shore, he noticed a wooden cross with the bottom sunken deep into the sand to maintain its upright pose. Everything else behind it was blanketed in shadows. A dark mist flowed along the top of the waters and the land around the cross. It further obstructed his view of the odd coastline.

The front of the boat struck something solid, throwing Durrell forward. He landed hard on his knees in the center of the craft. Unhurt, yet surprised, he looked up to the woman to see her climbing out onto a blackened, pebbly floor. _Wait a minute…_He was positive that the opposite side had sand on its shore. Why the difference? That was anyone's guess. Either way - not a significant concern at the moment. Right now, he just wanted to find out where he was.

"My name is Ahava, Durrell," The woman said, lifting her arms up over her head, still clutching the shaft of the paddle. She then stabbed the blade down into the rocky surface, plunging it in until the full shaft alone remained in sight. "Follow me."

"Where are we?" Durrell asked, standing up and trailing her onto the land. The ground under his feet was as solid as it appeared. He was relatively strong and didn't believe even he could jab through the substance with the paddle. Maybe the blade was sharper than it appeared. _I sure hope so._

"You are going to see his designs, his artwork," Ahava replied, pointing ahead in a diagonal angle, both forward and up at the same time. "And also what the wicked reap for the evil they have sown."

Ignoring the heavy ball of dread in the pit of his stomach, Durrell lifted his eyes to the area she had indicated. He misjudged her directions, and was forced to roll his head back further and further to behold the massive obstruction ten yards ahead. Standing out boldly against the outline of a foggy, dark red sky, was a black gate-like structure. It had to be close to seventy or eighty feet in height, and its width probably consisted of an identical measurement. A thin slit running down the center of the object led Durrell to assume that it was a single set of double doors.

The material the doors were made of appeared to be moving as if it were somehow alive. The motions were disturbingly familiar, and resembled a living creature writhing in anguish. Lows moans and groans of pain were audible, though barely, over the louder sound of a roaring wind. The breeze that should have well cooled Durrell's skin, by the sound of it, wasn't making it to him. If that was wind at all. The more he listened, he thought it began to sound like a horde of screams, muffled by miles of distance. Other pounding noises were mingled in and added to the distortion.

When his eyes had better adjusted to the awful lighting, he saw why the surfaces of the doors seemed to be altering. Human hands, arms, and feet were punching and kicking violently from inside the black material. Half of the limbs had ceased struggling and now twitched with the same force, only involuntarily. The faces of several victims, all with gaping mouths, pressed into the substance to display silent screams – cries of hopeless misery trapped in the oily matter holding them hostage. It also had to be subjecting them to some painful torture in order to elicit such obvious agony.

"This was one of his first inventions for the house of pain," The woman told Durrell, staring sullenly at the struggling souls inside the doors. "So many people throughout history have had an obsession with strangulation. They either choked others to death in their lust, or sought to experience it themselves at the hands of willing participants. This is their portion. The wall is made of a substance that allows no air inside, and burns their lungs as they do breathe in. They purposely withheld air from themselves and others, now they will not have the luxury of it."

"Wh-where are we?" Durrell stammered.

Rolling her eyes, aware that he already knew the answer to his question, Ahava gestured toward the top of the structure. He looked, and noticed that words were erected at the peak of the doors. Any doubt or curiosity as to his whereabouts was finally resolved. Exhaling sharply, he read the mocking, evil message.

WELCOME TO THE GATES OF HELL

The words were as black as the gate they bordered, yet they stood out like a bright star in the night sky. It was a derisive epitaph to further torment the souls who had descended into _hell_. A cruel joke, perhaps, invented by whatever demon had designed the place. The woman had mentioned a moment ago that she was showing him someone's artwork. This was not God's handiwork, obviously. From Durrell's own theological studies, he had come to the conclusion that God would not deal with the souls of the damned until Judgment Day. Then they would be cast into the lake of fire, along with hell, which was called Hades in the Greek. In the meantime, the devil and his angels had dominion over those souls.

_Am I now one of them? The people trapped in this place, forever? _The disturbing thought crossed his mind, and although he attempted to disregard it, he could not. Maybe he had actually died in the sanctuary when his abductor struck him on the back of the head. The small room he had come to consciousness in had either been a delusion or a holding cell of sorts. He wondered if Ahava was escorting him through what would now be his eternal home – eagerly showing him some of the evils he would suffer here shortly. He shuddered at the idea.

"Let's move on," Ahava started walking forward.

The woman had advanced only a few steps when a great noise briefly drowned out the screams and moans. Due to the abrupt manifestation of the sound, pain shot through Durrell's eardrums. Wincing, he clamped his palms over his throbbing ears. It was still audible and quite loud even through the flesh, bone, and skin of his hands. Still, he was relieved that it was at least partially dulled. The sound was one that Durrell had never heard before. He could liken it solely to a large piece of metal grinding against another and yet even that description was lacking.

Mercifully, the noise ended within seconds and he cautiously lowered his hands to his sides. Immediately, he identified what had caused that awful racket. The doors of the gate to hell were open at 90 degree angles in his direction. On the inside of the doors hundreds of trapped souls screamed and thrashed around from inside of the material enclosing them. The realization that he was merely on the outskirts of the place of torment worried Durrell. If it was this bad without him having entered the main location, then what awaited beyond the gate?

Reluctantly, he walked behind Ahava with his eyes focused ahead of himself. He avoided his instinctual desire to glance to each side on the way. Seeing the ensnared bodies up close would be too much. Instead of allowing that possibility he trained his vision on the back of his guide. She was moving ahead at a leisurely pace through the dark, cavernous underworld. Over her shoulder, he saw that the area was lit by fiery torches posted every few yards. He and Ahava were in what appeared to be a massive corridor. Prison cells lined the walls on both sides and the painful cries emerging from them told Durrell what was going on without him having to peek.

"Look," Ahava paused and pointed to the 'cage' on their right.

Through the bars of the cell, the forms of two large creatures were visible. Despite being humanoid in structure and standing upright on two legs, they were obviously far from human. The tallest of them had to be thirteen feet in height with a stocky build. His head was a mere inches below the black ceiling above him. He had the parts of a human, but was way too big, and the proportions of his body were all wrong. One leg seemed shorter than the other and his head had been positioned closer to his left shoulder. Although the darkness inside the cell obscured details from view, Durrell noticed the monstrous shape of the head. Instead of an oval it resembled an upside down triangle with horns protruding from where the ears would be on a human. A larger pair of horns was set behind them, and the four together curved down toward its chest. Unfortunately, the poor lighting didn't conceal a wide mouth with seven or eight jagged teeth inside. Saliva, or a similar liquid, dripped from its chin to the floor. The face itself was swathed in shadows and his sunken-in eyes remained hidden.

The next demon Durrell noticed was a foot or two shorter than the other. The frame of his body was thinner than his companion's without being any less intimidating. His hands hung low to the ground from arms that were too long for his stature. The legs of the creature also seemed inappropriately short for the rest of him. They, along with his arms and head, were the only part of his anatomy not covered by sharp fins. Each of the objects was at least three feet in length. His skin was a pale grayish color in contrast to the red hide of the beast standing nearby.

A naked man lied on his stomach at the feet of the two monsters, weeping profusely. His body revealed that he was in his late thirties or early forties and had maintained a healthy physique. He had no discernible injuries or wounds, but most of his white skin was coated with the dirt of the ground. It also blanketed his face and matted his short blonde hair. His entire body trembled feverishly as he cried, begging his captors for mercy. They spoke to each other in an alien language, and though Durrell had no idea what they were saying, the mocking tone in their fearsome voices was clear.

The thinner demon reached down and effortlessly scooped the man up from the floor. He had to weigh two hundred pounds and yet the creature handled him as if he were a child's toy. Turning the pleading man around so that his back was to him, the demon grasped his shoulders and then hugged its victim into its torso. The fins stabbed right through the skin and flesh of the man's back and he screamed as he was impaled on them. The tips of several of the sharp objects protruded through the skin of his stomach and chest. They had punched right through his body.

Durrell cringed at the almost inhuman, tortured screams the man emitted. He hung limp on the fins of the demon, staring in horror at the gory blades sticking out of his front. The wounds, amazingly, hadn't produced any blood. That minor detail wasn't lost on Durrell who had expected to see plenty of it. There was none at all. He was briefly reminded that in the Hebrew Bible it was said, "the life is in the blood." If he truly was where the gates had welcomed him to, then a bloodless body made sense. Anyone here had died by now. Maybe even he… _don't think about that. _The prospect that _he_ was dead was far more frightening than what he was witnessing inside the cell.

Growling, the larger demon stepped forward to grab the man by his head. It gently placed a hand on each ear, trapping the skull between its palms. Despite his agony, the man managed to open his eyes to stare at the creature that had seized him. His eyes reflected terror far more gripping than anyone could experience on earth. It was a contagious fear and it quickly spread to Durrell as he watched.

Simply seeing the beasts was frightening enough. Observing their evil intentions, and their absolute disregard for a living being, multiplied that consternation significantly. They were wholly wicked, and their hatred for the man under their mercy was unbridled. It seeped out of their ghastly forms, and manifested in the torture they were gladly inflicting on him. The evil people reported about in the news, heartless killers, terrorists who slowly sawed the heads off of their fellow man; the hatred they had paled in comparison to what Durrell sensed from the demons.

The taller monster snarled and pushed his hands closer together with the man's head locked in his grasp. Hardened skull cracked and made revolting sounds as it was slowly crushed between the demon's palms. Screaming, the victim clasped his hands over his tormentor's and attempted to pry the fingers lose. His struggle was to no avail. The immensely more powerful creature continued to squeeze. Loud pops, snaps, and a noise reminiscent of glass being crushed nearly drowned out the wails of pain. Only when the man's head was practically flat, did the beast relinquish the pressure. _He has to be dead. How can anyone…_ The distorted cries assured Durrell that he was alive, and had felt every second of it.

Turning his eyes away, Durrell moved past Ahava and began staggering up the trail, wanting to throw up. Like earlier, he had nothing else to bring out. He bent over anyway to alleviate his spinning head. Regardless of what he did, however, he doubted he would ever forget what he had seen. Why he had bothered to watch as long as he did in the first place was a mystery to him. He also wondered why Ahava was showing him these things. She had kept silent during the caged man's torments and Durrell's attention had been too enraptured to take note of her reaction, or lack thereof.

"Many who enter here have a schedule," Ahava said as she caught up and walked alongside him. "He assigns them to be tormented by the demons for three days. And then they are taken either to one of the fires, or whatever personal punishment he chooses for those who commit specific crimes. All of these cells around us contain souls who must suffer at the hands of the demons. It gets worse on later levels."

"Why… why are you showing me this?" Durrell stammered.

"I told you, already," The woman replied. "To see the talent of Kharash."

"Who is that?"

"You will soon see."

The couple passed eight cage doors, four on each side of the hall, paying no attention to what was happening inside. Durrell had to swallow his emotions to quiet the urge to look. He wasn't the type to expose himself to gory sights due to some morbid fascination. In fact, he preferred to avoid movies and television shows that depicted extreme violence. Human suffering, in fictional form or not, distressed him. Especially disturbing were instances in which he was helpless to intervene. Today was without equal. He had no choice but to walk by and ignore the brutality his fellow human beings were being subjected to.

_How can she stand it? _He pondered, casting a suspicious eye upon his guide. Her face was out of view at the moment as she walked a couple of paces ahead. She seemed unperturbed, cold, and uncaring – not at all fazed by the literal hell surrounding them. Then again, besides her appearance there was no way to tell exactly what she was. Her behavior alone led Durrell to doubt her humanity. For now she wasn't a threat so he wouldn't concern himself with the alarming prospects of what else she might be.

The corridor branched off to either side into smaller, less-lit passageways. He silently prayed that his guide didn't plan on taking them off of what felt like the safest route. To the right, the hall became increasingly narrow before the darkness consumed it ten yards in. Countless prison cells lined the walls, undoubtedly containing demons and the souls at their mercy. The twisted, hopeless screams turned Durrell's stomach and evoked his sympathy. Shaking his head, he turned to the left.

He first noticed a complete absence of cells in this direction. Less than ten yards from where he stood, the hallway opened up into a spacious clearing rendered inaccessible by prison-like bars. The room was illuminated by what appeared to be a blazing wind of some sort, unlike anything he had witnessed during his 21 years. It was a whirling mass of wind, fire, and smoke. _Like a tornado inside of a crashing wave… _The _tornado_ moved along the floor toward him, 40 or 50 yards away. _I hope it can't come through those bars. _Although it could have been a freak of nature, he got a distinctly evil sense from it. As if it was a conscious being, embodying the same spirit as the demons in a less physical form.

"NO!" A woman howled frantically, coming into view running several feet in front of the fiery wave. She too was free of clothing as the man in the cell had been. Her full outline was made visible in the strange glow produced by that _thing_ behind her. It revealed a fit form and long, brunette hair. The details of her body were hidden in shadows, however, due to no light source present between her and Durrell.

The woman screamed for help and glanced over her shoulder to see how close the fire had drawn. That was a mistake, and removing her gaze from the running lane caused her to stumble over her feet. She hurried to regain her footing as the heat on her back began to singe her skin. The blaze didn't need to make contact for her to experience its consuming flame. It was nearing quickly, picking up speed as it went. Her nostrils had filled with the pungent odor of her own burning flesh, which became stronger to the point of being toxic in its intensity. She choked on the tainted air, struggling to speak, "Please! I beg you – not again! NOT-"

WOOSH! In an instant, the fleeing woman was engulfed in the whirling mass of fire, smoke, and wind. The powerful torrent ripped away burnt chunks of her flesh and devoured her hair at the same time. Where the skin and gore was missing, already charred bone had appeared. The still screaming woman then disappeared in the fire as if eaten alive by the hot flames. The whirlwind lingered over her location, momentarily, before continuing to move toward the bars until they had passed her and moved out of sight.

Lying on the floor in the exact spot she had disappeared from, was the pathetic, weeping form of the woman. The heat had left her nothing more than a blackened, broken, skeleton, sprawled out on its stomach. Within the few seconds she remained covered by it, the blaze had completely removed her skin, flesh, and muscle. Naked in a horrible sense that none on earth could ever experience, she sobbed miserably, staring down at what she had become. Her non-existent vocal chords didn't prohibit her from emitting loud cries of anguish. Even as he watched, flesh slowly began to reappear on her forehead. Then her cheeks…

"Let's keep moving," Ahava said, quietly.

"What the…" Durrell stammered, compliantly turning to follow Ahava. He wanted badly to help the poor woman, but knew there was nothing he could do. "Can't you help her? Why is that happening?"

"She was one of many admonished to flee from youthful lusts, those which war against the soul. Her parents and her teachers warned her repeatedly to stop dishonoring her body. Instead of listening she chased after lust and became consumed by filthy desires. She refused to cease pursuing evil, so it will relentlessly pursue her – consuming her over and over again when they meet."

By the time Ahava had concluded her explanation, she and Durrell were standing before a small cell. The interior was lit with a torch posted a foot below the eight foot high ceiling. A man sat opposite the bars separating him from his observers, his back pressed against the far wall. He was fully grown and had a thick frame consisting of fat and muscle. It equaled to around 300 pounds packed onto at least six feet and three inches. In addition to his decidedly intimidating physique, a wild beard and a mustache further revealed that he was far from his youth.

Despite his age and stature, the prisoner sat with his knees drawn into his chest. His burly arms embraced them, locking them into place. He was leaning forward so that he could rest his hairy chin on the top of one knee. The posture was childish, and it bewildered and distressed Durrell to see a man of such size reduced to a feeble form. There was no need to try and keep warm in this dark place. Especially not with fire burning a few feet above the man's head. The heat outside the cell hinted at a temperature of 95 degrees Fahrenheit, if not worse. _No… _A need for warmth had not driven the man into the fetal position. That didn't explain his widened, bloodshot, eyes or his trembling ribs. It was fear, not cold. _An expectation of something terrible… or maybe a traumatizing experience? Plenty of both to go around here…_

Gingerly, the man's eye rose from the floor and paused on Durrell. The blue eyes of the caged captive were lifeless, hopeless, and horrified in a way that sent shockwaves through the body of the younger man. He staggered under the weight of the oppression vibrating out of the prisoner. While he was conscious enough to know his location and have a sense of the impending doom—he didn't quite seem to be all there. Resignedly, he lowered his head as his watcher took the time to observe the rest of the room.

Oddly, Durrell hadn't noticed the gigantic steel door there until now. Considering the morbid and dreary appearance of everything else in this otherworldly place, the chamber-like door had probably blended in easily. It represented, perhaps, the utter futility of ever hoping to escape the torments of Hades. The sturdy hindrance was impassable, and might have been placed there to serve as a grim reminder of hell's perpetual nature; something to crush the hopes of prisoners foolish enough to entertain serious thoughts of relief or freedom.

_Freedom from what? _ The prisoner wasn't suffering physically as far as he could tell. He knew all too well, though, that mental pain had its own equally undesirable sting. Briefly, in the small dark room he had faced a similar hell sparked by memories of Jennifer. And most importantly the fear that such moments would not present themselves again. Was the man on the floor enduring torturous memories? Interesting, Durrell realized, that on earth recalling past joys helped people survive harrowing situations.

What was the difference here? No end in sight. Therefore those cherished memories served mainly as a gnawing reminder of what was lost.

BANG! A deafening knock on the steel door startled the prisoner and his sympathetic observer. Their eyes met again with nearly identical faces. The lone difference was that the sudden noise confused Durrell, yet the terror in the man's eyes was due to recognition. He apparently knew what was coming, and his expression indicated that it was absolutely dreadful. The door was struck for a second time hard enough to create a dent in the normally impenetrable material. Turning to face it, the man began sobbing quietly, shaking his head in disbelief. _What now?_

SK-SKRUNCH! The impact of the third blow rattled the bars that Durrell stood in front of and left a deeper, jagged indent in the steel structure. He swallowed hard to try to contain his growing fear. The mere thought of seeing who or what was banging on the steel made that an impossible task. A glance at Ahava showed her watching with amusement. Scared out of his mind, the other man inched along the wall away from the door, screaming, "Oh please, not again! I've learned my lesson!" He reached the wall directly across from the door and pressed himself into it, trying to put as much distance between himself and the entrance as he could manage.

An angry growl of effort accompanied the next powerful strike and nearly caved in the door. The steel bent further inward to the point where it extended two feet past the doorframe. Each shot was stronger than the previous one and the fourth made durable steel look like aluminum foil. The prisoner was now weeping and begging with his palms clamped over his ears in an attempt to drown out the banging. His pleas elicited increased effort from the currently hidden entity, provoking it to hit the door more frequently. Its growls turned into savage, angry grunts and roars that heightened the man's terror. He screamed continuously. Whatever it was, was immensely powerful and it was acting as if it couldn't wait to break down the barrier. Intuition told Durrell that it could have easily cast aside the door within seconds, yet was choosing to torment its prisoner mentally – adding to his plight through suspenseful anticipation.

_That's enough. _There was nothing he could do to help. He wasn't getting through those bars, and even if that were possible, what was he going to do against the _thing_ behind the door? Staying close by would accomplish nothing except endangering his own wellbeing. Walking off and leaving seemed wrong on all fronts, yet the alternative was pointless. Dejectedly, Durrell tore his eyes away and brushed past a surprised Ahava, who had still been watching. He refused to grant her or the demon in the room the satisfaction of him sticking around. At the very least, he owed the man the respect to avert his eyes from the oncoming slaughter.

_I don't have to play her sick little game._ He had the sinking suspicion that the tour was prescribed as his personal torture. Who, besides the most depraved of people, would be able to watch this kind of suffering and not go insane? Durrell especially helped others when he could, and had never turned a blind eye to anyone's pain. _What's wrong with her?_

Since he had met Ahava, her emotionless expression had remained consistent. None of the terrible sights even remotely fazed her, unless she simply wasn't letting on. Some hospital employees eventually grew tired of the emotional stress encountered during countless hours caring for sick and dying patients. They often forced or allowed themselves to become desensitized to human plight. Durrell had witnessed many stone hearted responses to medical emergencies. Ahava's nonchalant attitude bothered him endlessly as he wondered how any human could view these images without demonstrating a shred of compassion. A glance back at her showed a vaguely amused face, and a hint of a smile.

"Isn't that enough?" He asked, raising his voice to be heard over the constant banging and screaming. "What are you really after? And why me?"

"There is one more that you need to see, Durrell," She replied.

"I'm through playing your sick little game," Durrell retorted. "Look, the last thing I remember is being inside of the chapel with Jennifer. Someone attacked me and then I ended up in that dark room – and now I'm here with you. You've got to tell me what's going on. Where's Jennifer, and why am I here?"

"You subjected yourself to everything that has happened today," Ahava told him, smiling. "The ignorance of your kind never ceases to amaze me. You came out to kill tonight, and though you were far too weak to go through with it, you've put yourself into harm's way nevertheless. Your enemy is constantly seeking a way to hurt you. And on earth you walk a tight rope with danger only a misstep away."

"You know… so do you know what that thing is, that's after us?"

"I will show you who he is," Ahava said, turning from him to walk up the hallway.

"He's here?" Durrell took a few cautious steps after her, waiting for an answer before he committed himself to any action.

"Not for another 20 days. You will see him again, most likely. But not in this place."

"When can I leave?"

"I told you, you have one last design to witness. Let me explain. The man you saw was among those who preyed upon the innocent, the weak, and the defenseless. He terrified the children of his girlfriend, abusing them for years. They locked the doors of their bedrooms to keep him out, to no avail. His girlfriend reported him years later. The courts had no evidence, so he got away with his crimes on earth. Here, you escape nothing. Therefore, he waits in that room in the manner of a child, frightened of what he knows is coming and unable to escape. Trapped like his innocent victims. An especially vicious demon lurks on the other side of the door. He breaks through tediously to torment his prisoners with anticipation, and once inside they are torn apart limb from limb. Then they are restored and the door is fixed, only for the process to be repeated."

"Why are the demons allowed to torment them?"

"Because their judgment is not until the end. Remember that the dust of the earth is the food of the serpent. Man becomes dust again when he dies. And the souls of many are that food here. It is fitting isn't it? Those who choose wickedness meet the only things in the universe more evil than they. The cruelest human being on earth doesn't reap a quarter of the pleasure they derive from inflicting pain."

"This is…"

"It should be comprehendible to anyone with a sense of justice," Ahava interrupted. "Although they hate being here, everyone you have seen knows that they deserve what they are enduring."

Durrell started to respond when he was cut off by the thunderous sound of a heavy steel object hitting the ground. The unexpectedness of the impact jolted Durrell, prompting his already frail heart to skip a beat. He whirled around to locate the source of the sound. The prison cell containing the former predator had fallen roughly forty yards behind while he and Ahava talked. For some reason, it was alone in this section of the hallway, which meant that the noise had emanated from inside the small room.

The voice of the trapped prisoner sent shivers down Durrell's spine as he began wailing, weeping, and begging all at the same time. Somehow, the young man knew that the combined utterances alone, terrible as they were, couldn't appropriately convey the sheer horror of the man's circumstances. If Ahava was telling the truth, then no human sounds, no matter how ghastly, could express what he was experiencing. In their desperation, the screams became child-like and distorted. They were briefly drowned out by a short, fearsome roar. It was louder than that of a lion and far more terrifying. Then a pair of hands appeared clutching the bars of the cell. Even over the great distance Durrell recognized the large knuckles and chubby fingers. The hands were pushing and pulling, meaninglessly, on the unmoving steel bars.

Suddenly, the hands disappeared as the man was ripped away from the cell door without a struggle. What followed were the sickening sounds of the powerfully built human body being crushed, mangled, and torn apart. Durrell cringed, hearing what he knew was bone grinding against bone, and the anatomy involuntarily assuming positions it was never intended to. Loud pops signified the breaking of bones, and the sound of skin shredding was unmistakable. All the while, the prisoner continued screaming – feeling every ounce of pain the demon was inflicted on him. His vocals released noises as revolting as those his body made in the hands of his predator.

_Thank God,_ Durrell thought, _I decided to move on when I did. _Unfortunately the sounds being carried into his ears painted a vivid depiction of the evil taking place inside the prison cell. People often said that the monsters of the imagination were worse than those in existence. Yet, something told him that his mind was incapable of even coming close to picturing the scene. He forced the questions and mental images out, blinking repeatedly to help the process. _I can't take much more of this place._ Not without permanently losing his sanity. Maybe that was what Ahava intended.

"One more that you need to see, Durrell," She announced.

Turning to follow her, he asked, "And if I say no?"

"I'll leave you alone here to find your own way out," Ahava replied. "You might be able to avoid the demons for a little while, if you want to take that chance. They cannot hurt you as long as I'm here."

The answer merely raised additional questions that Durrell doubted she would answer. A good number of his inquiries had been met with sketchy responses. Ahava was willing to divulge the information she considered important and little else. As a result, whatever was happening hadn't begun to make sense to him yet. He still didn't know how he had ended up in this God-forsaken underworld. Or who had attacked and removed him from the chapel, for that matter. Sadly, weighing heaviest on his mind was Jennifer's wellbeing and location. He had only hints of his own setting, but he would find solace in learning that she was safe. That was a luxury he was sure Ahava would not grant him.

The hallway came to a conclusion thirty yards ahead at a pair of steel double doors. They were nearly as tall and wide as the gates he and his guide had entered earlier. _But when? _The longer he remained here—his judgment of timing progressively slipped away. Had it been five minutes or an hour? Neither answer would surprise him much at the moment. The endless dark hallways and the perpetual torments of hell's prisoners rendered time useless. It was nonexistent in this world and had no effect upon the inhabitants. Whether he was being taken on a tour of his future abode or not, the fear, dread, regret, and hopelessness had become a part of him.

"Here," Ahava pointed to a smaller wooden door on the left, twenty yards away from the double doors. A name or word was etched deep into the thick wood on Durrell's eye level. _Kharash. _He'd heard Ahava say it earlier, assuming it was pronounced the way it was written. That wasn't a given – not here, anyway. Sighing, he lowered his eyes to where the doorknob would normally be located. In its place, the handle of a bladed weapon was embedded in the wood.

An angelic figure, eight inches from head to toe, had been painstakingly woven out of the white hilt. One of its oversized wings resembled that of a white dove, only far surpassing any beauty found on the notorious bird. The other wing was black and bat-like with tears and tatters corrupting its leathery fabric. Both were crossed over the face of the being, protectively. Underneath the wings, Durrell noticed that it wore a white garment soiled with grayish stains. The clothing ended at its black, monstrous feet with curved talons replacing the expected human toes. The talons disappeared in the wood of the door where the hilt turned into the blade. Incredibly detailed for a carving.

Reaching forward, Durrell seized the warm hilt in one hand. He was instantly taken aback by the flexibility of the wings. They were nowhere near as rigid as he had expected. Applying slight pressure moved them closer to the face of the _angel. _Curiously, he clamped down on the wings. They wrapped around the torso and head of the being. Upon that contact, there was a loud click, signaling that a lock had been set or released. Durrell drew back his hand and stepped away as the door opened toward him.

"Come," Ahava beckoned, stepping past him to pull the door aside. A black mist seeped out of the room and into the hallway at waist level. It moved too fast for Durrell to avoid and he quickly found his hips encircled by it. His legs completely disappeared underneath the surface, hidden in the darkness. He gasped and held his hands up above the cloud, wanting to at least spare his arms. The smoky substance instantly warmed his lower body and sent strong prickly sensations running through him. Fortunately, it didn't rise above his waist nor did it cause him any pain. The moment it touched him, though, he became aware of a malevolent presence. Whatever it was, it wasn't an ordinary fog. There was something in it.

"Ahava… what is this stuff?"

"It cannot harm you."

"There's something about it…"

"You don't want to know, just follow me."

Turning sideways in the doorway with one hand on the wood, Ahava used the other to grab Durrell's. Instinctively, he tried to snatch himself from her grasp but she tightened it and looked into his eyes. Through the cold blue irises he read reassurance, and persistence. She was silently assuring him that he was safe, and concurrently making it clear that he was coming whether he liked it or not. Fighting her, he realized, would be futile and probably unnecessary. Thus far, she hadn't come close to presenting herself as a threat. It seemed she was going out of her way to do otherwise. Regardless, her power, evident by her solid grip, demonstrated that he was practically at her mercy. Even if she was a friend, that bothered him.

Nodding, Ahava turned and led him through the open doorway. He had no reason to resist considering that he was already immersed in the fog. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be dragged across the threshold and into a massive cavern of a room. The ceiling overhead was a winding, unending path that led upward. It resembled the inside of a tornado, only it grew narrower the further up it went. What appeared to be holes and doorways had been carved in random spots throughout the tunnel.

Lowering his eyes to the rest of the room, Durrell surveyed the scene. Whereas the others he had seen were isolated and left alone to suffer, this prison was nearly filled with souls. Men, women, and older teenagers were scattered throughout the floor, sitting and lying down. There wasn't any physical distinction to link them, as their sizes, ages, and ethnicities all varied. The one similarity everyone shared was that their heads were bowed over a certain part of their bodies. At first, Durrell assumed they were crying but that didn't explain the movements he noticed next.

The person nearest to him, a young male, had brought his forearm up to cover his mouth. He was weeping while his head jerked back and forth, frantically. His eyes were wide open and bloodshot, staring remorsefully in the direction of his observers. With his mouth apparently covered he couldn't speak, but pleaded with them through his expression. Something was happening that he was powerless to stop, that much was obvious.

Grimacing, the young man took a hold of his raised wrist, and pushed against it. His entire body tensed as he struggled to move it forward, away from his body. After a few seconds he succeeded in peeling his forearm off of his face and he leaned back to scream. When his mouth opened mangled pieces of _flesh_ tumbled out and fell into the fog. Some of it remained stuck between his teeth and hung down in gristly strands. "Help me!" He cried in anguish.

Immediately his arm was shoved back into his face by an invisible force. Although he was obviously trying to resist, his jaws opened wide and clamped down on his forearm. His teeth cut right through the flesh and he began chewing vigorously, devouring chunks of himself at a time. In his consumption there was the hungry desperation of a person who hadn't eaten in days. He paused only to swallow, forcing the meat and muscle down his throat to make room for more. Even with his other arm still pulling to create separation, he was unable to stop himself. That might have been because the free arm was mostly bone by now.

Balking, Durrell lifted his eyes and saw that no one in the room was spared the same predicament. Though many had advanced to their legs and torsos, they were all devouring themselves. Several had contorted their bodies to be able to bite parts normally inaccessible to the mouth. It didn't matter how much discomfort a position obviously caused. The relentless frenzy went on though the grief in the eyes of the victims made it clear that they had no choice.

A woman thirty yards into the room knelt on the floor, leaving her shoulders and head above the mist. She held her arms up in front of her, gawking at what little remained of them. The flesh had been eaten down to the bone. Her teeth had done a number to her shoulders also, indicated by the marks on the muscle left behind. Wherever anything remained, it was a mere thin layer or two. Leaning forward, the woman lowered her hands and opened her mouth wide. A tortured scream was interrupted by a stream of gore spilling out into the mist. She held her abdomen which had sucked itself into her spine as gurgled noises escaped her throat. _She's throwing it up…_

"What – Ahava?" Durrell was nearly beyond speaking.

"These are they who devoured human flesh during their lives, and not out of necessity," Ahava explained. "Among many tribes, ancient and modern, cannibalism is practiced by certain cults and shaman. It is believed in their religions that you can gain the intelligence and positive characteristics of a person by consuming them. One of the lies their god told them. Now they will eat themselves, as they ate others, and once they can't take in any more they vomit it out. Like with the woman after the lusts are finished with her, their skin and flesh comes back on for the cycle to be repeated. All of this is done with their king watching over them."

"Their king?"

"The great designer, Kharash. The fallen one."

In the center of the room, an object finally caught Durrell's attention. He had been so aghast by the activities of the people that he hadn't paid it any mind until now. A tall throne loomed ominously in the midst of the souls, overlooking their suffering. Its opaque color had previously allowed it to blend in with the rest of the room's dreary appearance. His former ignorance of its existence didn't stop it from captivating Durrell upon sight. Everything else transpiring around it momentarily ceased to matter.

The throne's size and shape were befitting of the word Ahava had utilized in reference to its normal occupant. A king. The armrests bordering the vacant seat had human skulls carved into the edges where hands would rest. His first glance left him convinced that they were real. Both were perfectly formed with all the right proportions. Four hollow eye sockets contorted to display sorrow returned Durrell's stare. Their mouths hung open in never ending, toothy screams. Only the fact that they were twice the size of a normal man's skull indicated that they weren't authentic.

A winged being stood on the peak of the throne directly above the headrest. It was black and large enough to be prominent despite the lack of lighting in the room. There were roughly two feet from the point where it talons held onto the chair to the top of its head. _A crow. _The bird's wings were spread out fully to its sides, showing off a wingspan of five feet, as if in preparation to launch itself into the air. He silently hoped that it, like the skulls, was a part of the throne's demented artwork. The crows guarding the hospital had nearly killed him and Jennifer with little provocation. Chances were, this one wasn't going to be an impartial observer.

Gingerly, the bird lowered it wings to tuck them in to its side. Its gaze stayed locked on Durrell the entire time and the slow movement was clearly a deliberate attempt to intimidate him. All of the horrific sights should have kept that from happening. He had gone through far too much to allow an oversized crow to frighten him. Yet, it did. The powerful presence it exhibited warned him that it wasn't a mere animal. Nor were the birds outside the hospital regardless of their appearance. This one was different in that the evil vibrated off of it in waves. Its relatively small stature did nothing to hinder the fear it sent coursing through his body.

"We'll take him next," A masculine voice declared.

Blinking twice caused the bird, the throne, and the people immersed in the black fog to begin fading away. The visuals gradually dispersed into an empty, black, nothingness. Durrell continued to blink, praying that he wasn't somehow going blind. The last thing he wanted was for the crow to come after him without him being capable of defending himself. To avoid that, he started to take a step back to create distance between them… and discovered that he was longer on his feet. _What's going on? _His legs were propped up in front of him and he was sitting on his butt. Edging backward pressed his back against a hard, unmovable surface. He instinctively lifted his hands to run them along the pebbly wall behind him. They struck a ceiling a foot or so above his head. Balls of despair formed in his throat and the pit of his stomach. Unwilling to accept the evidence he already had, he reached out to his sides. His elbows struck hard surfaces that prohibited him from extending them as far as he could have. The narrow spacing confirmed his location.

Back in the room. The demons were gone and the screams were beginning to die down to leave him in a quiet - anything but peaceful. Likewise, the sickening sounds of the damned gnawing on their bodies, noises that had him on the verge of madness seconds ago, had departed. Ahava, his guide who was his lone 'friend' in the world of chaos was nowhere to be seen. True to her word, she had not harmed him or kept him in that awful place. Her absence wouldn't have upset him if not for the fact that Jennifer, too, was not there with him. _God only knows where she is. _To his dismay, the memories returned to torment him as soon as that thought entered his mind – casting him back into his own personal hell.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER NINE

The second floor of the hospital was a welcome relief. _No, relief isn't quite the appropriate word. A _more befitting description would be 'the lesser of two evils'. Ordinarily, Jennifer didn't buy the logic that went into that conjecture. Wandering about the halls and rooms of a foreign place like the hospital afforded her few options. The first floor was where her boyfriend had mysteriously vanished into thin air. It also contained the passageway from hell with corpses left lying around.

She was a little over five minutes removed from the stairwell door she'd used to enter the second floor. No grotesque visuals, so far. The fluorescent lights also seemed to have been better maintained than those of the former level. None that she had seen were out or flickering. That could change at any moment but she chose to remain optimistic. At the very least, she wouldn't have to be concerned with anyone or anything sneaking up on her in the dark. _That's always nice._

Whereas the first floor seemed to lack them, there were plenty of doors and alternate routes up here. The last sign she had seen indicated that she was currently in the Intensive Care Unit. Patient rooms with their corresponding numbers surrounded Jennifer on both sides. The doors were all closed with the exception of one or two every so often. She passed one on the right and intentionally averted her eyes. Immediately afterward, she scorned herself for having done so.

The human imagination was capable of creating nightmares as bad, if not worse, than authentic predicaments. She wasn't at all creative, but under the circumstances, her mind was prone to exaggerate and worsen the experience. There probably wasn't anything in the room. Still, she dealt with the consequences of having looked away, and envisioned all sorts of frightening possibilities. None were rational because that word hadn't applied to a single occurrence of the last 12 hours.

Jennifer had decided that the monster wasn't there. It would have taken her with Durrell in the chapel if it were. Instead, whoever had done something to him went to great lengths to remain concealed. That left other options that were favorable compared to the demon's presence, and terrifying in their own way at the same time. The worshippers of Huitzilopochtli hadn't left the back of her mind since she read the article in the bathroom. She didn't want to run into one of those weirdoes, that was for sure. Then there was the unlikely but plausible thought that someone else had taken refuge in the hospital. Abandoned warehouses and large buildings were hideouts for criminals, drug dealers, and murderers. _Basically, _Jennifer said to herself, g_ood company is hard to find in a place like this. Even under ordinary conditions._

A painting on the wall briefly held her attention as she walked by. It was a depiction of a tall building with black birds perched on the edge of the roof. Crows. They silently stared in her direction and she imagined their eyes following her every move. The word or name "Legion" was written ominously below their feet. _What does that mean? _Sounded familiar, but not important at the moment. Although she did wonder if this region of Shady Dawn was notorious for being overpopulated by the birds. The painting was either a hint of that or something else.

Shivering, Jennifer wrapped her arms around her torso. The sudden shiver was her body reminding her of how cold it was outside. Spring weather in Erie County was typically 60-75 degrees Fahrenheit during the daytime, and anywhere between 35 and 60 overnight. Last night's chill had carried over into the morning, apparently. She wasn't an expert, but it felt like 50 degrees. It would have been wise to ask for a jacket at Jack and Suzie's Inn. They had to have something better than her long-sleeved gray shirt, which was all she had now.

The cold air seemed to have been trapped inside the closed-in hallways of the hospital. Her apprehensions mentally, and possibly physically, lowered the warmth. Though she rarely experienced such fear, she knew that numerous people linked coldness with fright. There were others who claimed that decreased temperatures without any legitimate weather changes were due to the presence of ghosts or evil beings. Jennifer didn't believe in ghosts – she thought that paranormal stuff was nonsense. She was willing to accept the existence of evil spirits, however. That was even prior to tonight when she met one in a corporeal form.

One of her friends, a girl named Lydia, talked of "imprints", which she interpreted as the feelings left over in an area from former inhabitants. Jennifer had glibly listened to what she shrugged off as her friend's ridiculous pastime (paranormal research). Imprints were created when intense emotions were emitted during a particular event, or over extended periods of time. The example Lydia gave was when depressed souls finally caved in to their self-loathing and committed suicide. There were cases where whoever was unfortunate enough to move in, or visit the place where he or she died, would experience similar depression and urges to kill themselves. Some chalked it to the meddling of the suicide victim's ghost.

Durrell, unlike Lydia, rejected the idea of deceased persons roaming the invisible world. The responsible party in his mind was one of two sources: either the pent up frustrations and pains lingering in the rooms, perhaps "trapped" like the hospital's cold air—or the same demons and evil spirits that drove the former person to suicide. Neither possibility was likeable, but Jennifer didn't deny them any longer. She pondered if the cold inside the hospital was spurred by the imprints. Accompanied by evil spirits intent on imposing their fear, sadness, and malice on everyone.

The newspaper article featured people who said the hospital was subjecting patients to the unwilling removal of organs. They also alleged that others had completely vanished. Obviously the claims were meant to indicate that the staff had _something_ to do with their disappearances. Earlier, Jennifer was bothered by the fact that some had entered medical facilities asking for help - and never left. _And that was just with normal hospitals._ The B. Wesley Hospital's doctors and nurses were stealing organs, and committing murder if the reports could be believed. The purpose became evident the more she thought about it.

Cephar, the religion of one of the doctors, admittedly practiced human sacrifice in the past. The god venerated in the "Feasts of the gods of Hashsupt" was also mentioned in the article, and not by the accusers whose ignorance could blind them to the truth. Instead, it was the doctor himself who confessed. He then stated that those rituals had no place in the modern incarnation of Cephar. _Yeah, right. Like he would openly say that their god, Huitzilo-whatever, still required human sacrifice_.

If people were sacrificed in the hospital, or conscious of the theft of their body parts, then what kind of imprint would that leave behind? The feelings of hopelessness and despair that had briefly plagued Jennifer on the first floor? Depression when patients realized that they would die and never see their family members again? Dread at the torment they would undergo at the hands of insane demon-worshippers? Jennifer doubted the religious nuts took the time to ensure their victims felt no pain. They might have relished in it. Huitzilopochtli had been depicted inhaling the waves of fear and pain coming off of his sacrifices.

A prickly cold settled along Jennifer's spine, prompting her to peek over her shoulder. The hallway to her rear remained empty and motionless. There weren't any signs that she was being followed or that anyone was nearby. Yet, the unnerving sensation of being watched stayed with her. The cold had distinctly targeted the middle of her back, producing the impression that someone was staring holes though her. She envisioned a pair of evil eyes glaring at her from behind as she walked. She saw nothing, but that didn't mean someone or _something_ wasn't there.

Jennifer turned to the corridor ahead of her, ignoring her instincts. They screamed repeatedly for her to watch her back. She wasn't a paranoid girl and for her to feel like she was being watched probably meant that she really was. The presence of the being that the eyes were attached to was overwhelmingly powerful. Hateful and predatory. It was almost equal to what the gaze of the demon in the hat inflicted on her. That wasn't something her feeble imagination could conjure up at will. There had to be an influence. A cause.

_Forget that before you freak yourself out. _She was approaching a doorway that appeared to be wholly missing the door itself. This time, she didn't permit herself to glance away, fearing that the presence would magnify the subsequent alarm. Jennifer peered through the vacant space and into a small medical room. A gurney, minus a body thank God, was positioned against the far wall. Rusty machinery surrounded it and filled the majority of the visible quarter. In the center of the floor, a steel tray sat atop a narrow table of the same substance. _I shouldn't have looked._

Blood-covered tools were lying across the surface of the tray. A few of them were too elaborate for Jennifer to identify. She did recognize a scalpel. The blade of the object was coated in both fresh blood and bits and pieces of meat. Needles and surgical knives lied among the rest of the various utensils. They were all capable of inciting fear in patients residing in reputable hospitals. In a building where the staff was perhaps using them for wicked deeds far more frightening than the usual procedures, the sight of them threatened to paralyze Jennifer. She tore her eyes away from the room and blinked to shut out the images.

The question was answered. The hospital wasn't abandoned and whoever was there wasn't just a janitor or an inspector. What if that blood belonged to Durrell? _Don't even think that, idiot. _An adequate amount of time had not passed for someone to drag him upstairs and perform a surgery. There was little chance that the blood was his but the thought alone was distressing. Wherever he was, he might not be alive for long if Jennifer didn't find him. Not with the weird cult there, waiting for human sacrifices to offer. The man in the cab had rushed them out in front of the hospital at gunpoint. Was he a part of the Cephar group?

Jennifer continued to ponder this as the hallway cut off abruptly and arrows on the wall pointed her to the right. She followed and entered a wide corridor illuminated by a beautiful natural light. The fluorescent lights paled in comparison to the sunlight pouring in through the windows lining the walls on the right and left. _Is it really daytime? I guess this gigantic hospital made me feel like it was still the middle of the night. _They appeared to actually make up the walls themselves, like in a greenhouse. The ceiling was normal, though, and the glass started four feet up where the painted wood cut off.

The sunlight had a calming effect on Jennifer's body as she reached the windows. It warmed her skin and soothed the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. The eyes were still there but she was able to be aware of the presence, without it terrifying her. She smiled internally. Her hardened face wouldn't allow her cheeks to rise to express her delight. The hospital had taken on the characteristics of a never ending maze until now. She was discouraged by the nagging notion that she wouldn't find a way out. That she would never see anything except the walls of the building again. _Thank God that's not the case._ _For now, at the very least._

The sun was high up in the sky above the great gothic buildings in the distance. There were smaller buildings, stores, and apartments closer to the hospital. They were partially concealed by the four feet of wall under the windowpanes. Jennifer couldn't see any cars in the road from her point of view. The streets were barren and the windows of the other structures showed no life inside. Even with an extremely low population, she figured she should have seen someone. The last live person to come before her eyes besides Durrell was the jerk cab driver.

The eyeless man's killers were surprisingly few in number on this side of the hospital. A handful of them flew about, scattered through the blue-orange firmament. Less than a dozen were perched on the roofs and telephone poles of the town. Jennifer was certain that the rest of them were still waiting at the Emergency Room entrance. There had been a good number at the front entrance as well with the red jeep. It seemed as if they were content to hang around until Jennifer and Durrell exited the hospital. Or some unfortunate soul drove past and rolled his window down. A telephone might be of no use with those things out there. _They'll need an exorcist for the damned birds._

A distant speck lured Jennifer's attention. She leaned closer to the window, placing her palms on the glass. An oddly shaped bird was gliding toward the hospital from high up in the sky. It was too far away for her to identify but she could tell that it wasn't a crow. Too big. Whatever it was, moved with such speed that she was sure it would be in eyeshot within a couple of seconds. She waited, patiently, curious as to what other winged animals Shady Dawn harbored. Hopefully the crows would attack and eat it, providing her and Durrell an opportunity to escape. _That would be nice, for a change._ Jennifer managed a grin this time. It faded instantly.

The_ speck_ grew larger and larger and she realized that it wasn't a bird at all. She had been thinking that it was an eagle because of the length of time it went without flapping its wings. Eagles didn't grow to that size. Nor did any other bird that she'd witnessed in flight or on the ground during her 20 years. The creature lifted its wings and thrust them down hard, propelling itself forward with increased speed. This brought the torso of the beast into range and Jennifer gasped.

In place of the feathery body and head that she expected, the _thing_ had a human torso and a strangely shaped head. Its legs weren't in view because the upper body was aimed horizontally at the hospital. The rest of it was hidden behind broad shoulders. Visible was a dark coat fluttering cape-like in the breeze behind it. The arms of the coat covered the arms of the creature, which were back at its sides. The wings extending out of its back were reminiscent of massive bat wings. Larger than any bat had the capacity to develop.

Methodically ascending, the wings flapped once again and the _bird _drew nearer. _You've got to be kidding me. _The head didn't have a beak, nor did it remotely resemble that of a bird or bat. Instead, Jennifer saw the distinctive outline of a human's head and face. A wide-brimmed, old fashioned hat sat on the top of the oval, pushed on tight to withstand the wind pressing against it. Despite the rim of the hat concealing the visage of the flying beast, she knew exactly what it was. _The demon!_

Clamping a hand over her mouth, Jennifer dropped to the floor. She hit hard on her side and immediately rolled to align herself vertically with the bottom of the wall. _Did it see me?_ _Oh man, please tell me it didn't see me. _She wanted to scream to release the pent up terror in her heart and stomach. Yet, if she wanted to live, she had to disregard the suicidal impulses. The demon might not have seen her and that meant she needed to stay quiet.

_How could it not have seen you? Get up and run, Jennifer._ She struggled to keep herself on the floor, her body hugging the wall. If she had been close enough to see his form, then he had to have spotted her. Unless the sun had reflected off of the windows in a way that distorted what was behind them. Hopefully the demon's eyes were subjected to the same limitations of a human's. _Who cares if it saw me… it was coming right this way._ The hospital was where it abided, then. And it had brought Ben's body there, along with a dozen more, for some ungodly purpose.

Jennifer had to find Durrell and get them the hell out of there a.s.a.p. There was no telling what that thing was capable of. Without seeing them it could have a way of discerning that they were present. For all she knew, it was capable of communicating with the birds as crazy as that sounded.

She rolled onto her stomach, staying close to the wall, and trudged ahead on her elbows. She propelled one forward at a time, reaching as far as it would go, dug it into the floor, and dragged her body up with it. When she was satisfied with the distance, she hastily brought the next elbow from alongside her ribs and repeated the movement.

A _thud_ impacted the hospital above her and she gasped. The building seemed to rattle due to the heavy blow. The demon had either plowed through a wall or landed with force somewhere on the upper floors. The former made more sense. If he dwelled there, he probably wouldn't break the place apart. That was unless he was aware of the attendance of the intruders who had evaded him all night. Shaking her head, Jennifer forged onward with all that she had. She couldn't let his entry stop her or cause her to make a mistake. She considered standing and running at first. Then it occurred to her that the creature could have hit the building to lure her into assuming he was inside. He might be trying to determine if he _had_ seen someone.

For now, Jennifer played it safe and resiliently dragged her body along the cold floor. She waited a full minute before bothering to glance up. The glass was gone and once again replaced by the customary white hospital walls. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Jennifer crawled five extra paces and then staggered up to her feet. Her knees buckled underneath her and she fell into the wall. She leaned her weight against it to allow her legs time to gain strength.

_Calm down, Jennifer. Relax. You've made it this far. You just have to find Durrell and then you can leave this place for good. Unless the demon kills you both and brings you back here—Puts you on gurneys like Ben. Stop it._ _That won't happen if you don't let it._

She calmed her frantic breathing by taking in a deep breath, and slowly exhaling through her nostrils. The second time she took the air in through the same orifice. Now was not an opportune occasion for her to have another panic attack. She had to take it easy or she ran that risk, considering that it had happened previously. Ten repetitions of in through the nose, out through the nose, and she was successful in relaxing her heart rate. Jennifer then looked up to see where the windowed corridor had led her.

She was in a thinner hallway with a large red sign posted on the right wall. Twenty yards deep it cut off into passageways to the right and left. The wall at the junction directly ahead boasted a sign of its own. Too far away for Jennifer to read and she couldn't care less about it at the moment. She put weight on her knees and although they shook a little, they were now competent to support her.

Standing straight, Jennifer walked hurriedly toward the end of the hall. The sign on her right told her that the inside of the wall harbored the Dining Room. _Might be a phone or something in there._ Anywhere was better than the hallway which suddenly felt wide open and naked. Hiding would be much easier in a room. In the corridors, some of which stretched on forever, she was in plain sight. Besides, it was probable that Durrell, whether he had been taken or voluntarily departed from the Chapel, was in a room.

The word Dining reminded Jennifer of how hungry she was. She hadn't eaten since leaving her house that night to ride along for the "Lights Out" initiation. That seemed to have taken place years ago instead of a mere six hours. She had put serious deliberation into calling Ben to cancel the night's planned activities. Her lack of desire to have Durrell become a part of her dark, sordid world nearly motivated her to do so. If only she had paid attention to the private urges. For the evening, she would have spared the lives of Ben, Damien, and possibly Durrell and herself. A simple phone call, a pithy argument with Ben, and the cat and mouse game with the demon wouldn't have ever happened. The choice between angering the gang leader and her superiors, instead of enduring a night and morning of surreal horror… was no contest.

Now that she hadn't done that, she was sharing a six-story hospital with a murderous entity and maybe the cult members worshipping him. If he was supposed to be Huitzilopochtli. Jennifer had no reason to, but she doubted he was their deity. He didn't look the type to sit around and wait for sacrifices to be made to him. And he would probably kill the Cephar religious freaks without batting an eye. Whatever he was, he was pure evil. And unlike misery, evil didn't love company_. It may use it for its own means, but that was the extent of it._

She reached the end of the hall and surveyed her options. The hallway to the right concluded thirty yards down, and had doors in both sides of the walls. Ten feet away were double doors that opened up into the eatery according to the Dining Room sign nailed above it. Jennifer's stomach growled, letting her know where it wanted to go. _Food is the very last thing I can afford to think about right now. _The location of the monster and Durrell were far more pressing matters.

The opposite hallway advanced fifteen yards and then turned to the right. Similarly to its parallel, there were doors lining the walls. Jennifer forsook her hunger and strode into the hallway. The door coming up on her immediate right was open. She had learned her lesson in the Intensive Care Unit. Better to let her imagination haunt her than the gruesome visuals the hospital presented. Today, reality was worse than her mind's eye.

Jennifer had nearly cleared the doorway when a rough hand grasped the collar of her shirt. She instinctively reached up to grab the hand and free herself, but her captor was faster. Screaming, Jennifer was yanked off balance and pulled into the room. She tripped on the way over the threshold and fell to her knees. A jolt of electricity-like pain shot up through the joints and spread to the rest of her body. _How did he get down here so fast? It can't be over yet… _She had the wherewithal to swat at the hand holding her shirt while crying out, "Get off of me!" To her shock, the hand released her.

"Quiet, kid!" A woman's voice whispered harshly.

Confused and scared, Jennifer climbed to her feet and faced her attacker. The voice matched the speaker after all. Standing before her was a woman of roughly the same height, maybe giving up an inch to the clearly younger of the two. Though she was attractive and could pass for twenty-two, her youthful face was also marred by maturity, wisdom, and apparently more than a few long nights. She wore her red hair in a ponytail behind her head, with a thin layer of bangs hanging low to her eyebrows. The uniform she wore resembled a police outfit, and included a patch on her left shoulder. Jennifer was going to read it until she spied the pistol in the woman's right hand.

"Who are you?" Jennifer asked.

"I should be asking you the same," The woman replied, her green eyes burrowing into Jennifer's. "Your voice sounds familiar, and you don't look crazy so I'm assuming you're not with them?"

"With who… those cannibal nuts worshipping Huitz… Huitzilo…"

"Huitzilopochtli," The stranger narrowed her eyes, suspiciously. "You know that name, huh?"

"It was in one of their books in the chapel downstairs," Jennifer explained. She took a bold step toward the woman. Being closer would make a fight fairer if the stranger was there for malicious purposes. Jennifer also wanted to demonstrate that she wasn't backing down. Showing fear to monsters granted them more power than they needed. "And it was in an article in the bathroom. Do I look like I would be in on something like that?"

"If you did, I would have shot you by now," The woman holstered her weapon when she noticed that it was adding to the tension. "You do look mighty familiar, too. Your voice I recognize from the phone although our conversation was brief."

"Wait a minute," A bell seemed to ring in Jennifer's head. "Are you Claire?"

"Yes, I am," Claire extended a hand with a curt smile. "That would make you Jennifer."

"Good to see you…for the first time," Jennifer shook her hand, relived to meet another human being who wasn't a part of the cult. Even if it wasn't Durrell just yet, she would take it.

"You were supposed to be meeting me at Our Lady of Lourdes," Claire told her. "What happened? We're a long way from there."

"You don't know the half of it. Whoever it was who picked us up in the cab dropped us off right in front of the hospital. He made us get out at gunpoint and unlike you – we had nothing on us to argue otherwise. Then the crazy birds out there chased us and we had no choice but to run in here. Unfortunately. How did you get past them?"

"They were on the other side of the building, I think. The second I pulled up and locked my jeep door, the damned things swarmed at me. They came around the sides and from over the roof. I might have had time to jump back into the jeep and escape. But, I figured that you and your boyfriend would need me if you were inside."

"How did you end up here? You said you were meeting us at Lourdes."

"Right," Claire nodded. "And then it occurred to me that some folks in Shady Dawn aren't quite what they seem. I worked in this God-forsaken town for a couple of years and I knew that the cult had connections. They found a way to infiltrate the hospital first, and after that it was the police department, and then the Mayor's office. I was silly to think they hadn't targeted cab services. It's brilliant, really.

"Jack and Suzie must have called the local company because in Dawn everything is cheaper. Not that I can blame them. And I'd bet your dollar the cult either works for the company, or they pay drivers off to take folks to this hospital. It's the sneaky way to find people to enlist them, or for a sacrifice."

"Sacrifice? Are they still doing that?"

"Officially, no. Do I have evidence? Nope. Are they? Yes. They've never stopped as far as I am concerned. You had to have noticed how empty this town is. That's the reason. Of course, everyone will convince you that it happened due to soaring prices and economy. The truth is, people were disappearing left and right. An investigator did an expose and found out that the devoted followers of Cephar had plans to continue human sacrifice. Their extensive goals were to have dedicated members join the police force, hospital staff, and government positions. He was ridiculed, called a religious bigot, and later disappeared. The area was filled with Orthodox Jews, Catholics, and Christians. A lot of them believed the investigator. They left immediately. A whole lot of them."

"How many are there? In the group?"

"I don't know. Estimates vary. Could be five, could be 500."

"Why haven't I heard any of this?" Jennifer shook her head, expressing her bewilderment on her face. "If something so freaky was happening then why didn't anyone know it?"

"Cover up," Claire shrugged. "Loonies or not, Cephar's folks aren't stupid. Call me what you like, but you find some of the best information on the net. It's free there and without censorship. Even the dumb stuff that should be censored. And in our modern day and age, people are afraid to label anyone a _cult._ You can kidnap children, and claim that it's a vital part of your religious activities. Anyone makes a slightly judgmental peep and you'll have the lawyers tearing you apart."

"The internet?"

"Hey, I said some of the best information. There's junk, too. Where is your boyfriend? Have you come in contact with _them_ already?"

The ceiling overhead creaked loudly, abruptly interrupting the conversation. Jennifer and Claire gazed up at the spot the sound had come from, the older woman's hand resting on the butt of her holstered pistol. The floorboards of the third floor groaned underneath the weight of someone walking on them. Dust fell off of the ceiling wherever the footsteps thundered. The walker exhaled and released air from its mouth in a ragged growl. Claire followed the noises with her eyes and exchanged a knowing glance with Jennifer. They waited until the footsteps faded in the distance.

"I haven't met them, no," Jennifer whispered. "My boyfriend disappeared while we were in the chapel. He sat in the back row of the pews to pray and I checked out the rest of the room. When I turned to get him to leave, he was gone."

"You think the thing took him?"

"I wasn't sure at first. That demon was very aggressive when we ran into him out on the road. He didn't look the type to sneak around and play games. Besides, I just saw it arrive here a few minutes ago."

"How?"

"It was flying."

"What?"

"It has wings. I mean it, big wings."

"Did they come with fries?"

"I'm not joking."

"Wait, wait…" Claire's lips parted and her eyes became glazed. "Remember I told you on the phone that there were strange reports from families in 1840. Two sets of parents called the police reporting that their children had been carried off by a man with wings. A man in a hat and coat like the one you saw. And the one my Dad saw."

"Your father?" Jennifer tilted her head to one side, seeing the pain in Claire's eyes.

"I thought it was nonsense because the Erie County Devil was so popular then," Claire continued, ignoring Jennifer's curiosity. "He was said to be the same as the Jersey Devil, since we don't live too far away from New Jersey. And during the Phenomenal Week of 1909 he caused so much trouble in Erie County, Shady Dawn, and South Jersey that everyone assumed the devils were one and the same."

"I've heard of the Phenomenal Week. I don't know anyone in the area who hasn't. But isn't it just myth?"

"Police officers, firemen, doctors, school teachers, and countless other reputable witnesses reported sightings and encounters. He was said to have been shot at without the bullets having any effect. The whole county was terrified and then he just stopped coming. He vanished. People figured it was dead, whatever it was. When the smoke cleared there were six missing in New Jersey, 45 in Erie County, 30 in Poho County, and 84 in Shady Dawn. There were nasty injuries as well."

"Why did he leave?"

"Who knows? It's possible that he was injured. And I'm not sure if I mentioned it to you earlier, but I think there's a pattern in his actions. The reports are most frequent every 20 years or so. After 1909, he showed up briefly in 1932, and again in 1955, and 1978. Which means he either leaves the area for that time, or he works in a more stealthy way."

"What the hell is that _thing_, Claire?" Jennifer asked nervously. "It's been around since 1840, and no one has killed it?"

"That's going to change today," Claire gestured toward her waist.

Jennifer followed the hint to Claire's holster and noticed a sheathed knife and another larger gun attached. It was similar in appearance to the pistol on her right hip, only twice the size and colored silver and brown instead of black. Jennifer wasn't familiar with too many guns but she assumed it was a fancy brand of handgun. The barrel of the weapon was also unusually elongated. Probably intended to add to the firepower. It was held to Claire's left hip and the knife was affixed to the front of her left thigh. _She came prepared._

"You think those weapons will work? We had guns ourselves and they didn't help us much. Obviously, he wasn't exactly standing still."

"I hope you and your friends have licenses for those guns," Claire stepped past Jennifer and approached the doorway. "We can discuss that later. You stay put and keep your head down until I end this."

"We have to find Durrell," Jennifer said.

The woman didn't respond. She waved over her shoulder and strode toward the hallway. Jennifer angrily rushed to beat her to the door where she whirled around and faced her. Claire had to put on the brakes instantly to avoid a collision. Sighing, she placed a hand on her hip and stared at the young woman. Unyielding, Jennifer extended her arms to either side to block the exit. "You came here to help us, didn't you? Or are you just here to kill that creature?"

"If that demon is trying to kill you then I'm helping you by killing it first, aren't I?" Claire placed a hand on her hip, hiding her annoyance with a sly smile.

"Listen Claire, the cult is here, too," Jennifer reminded her. "They are the ones who took him. And if we don't find him soon then God knows what they'll do. Or what we'll find left of him."

"The demon could use the opportunity to attack us by surprise. I say you let me eliminate him first."

"Fine," Jennifer crossed her arms over her chest and cleared the doorway. "I'll find him by myself if I have to."

Sighing, Claire dropped her hand to her side. She stared into the eyes of the young Hispanic woman less than a foot away. Jennifer's words prompted her to reexamine her true motivations for having come to the hospital. Claire had carefully followed the career of her father in hopes of avenging his death. The demon he'd encountered hadn't physically killed him, but its appearance had led to his untimely demise. That was the same thing, as far as she was concerned. The thing had stripped him of the ability to lead a normal life and in the process, murdered him.

Years of training had all served as preparation for today's inevitable confrontation. Claire had vowed to protect and serve the residents of Erie County. While taking that vow, her ultimate goal was to hunt down a monster and kill it. Which was most important, though? The girl looked tough, and was probably capable of defending herself. Yet, it was apparent that she wanted to have company – like she felt safer with Claire around. _I can't betray that._

"That won't be necessary," Claire gave Jennifer a half smile which she had to force through her guilt. "We shouldn't split up, should we?"

"Thank you," Jennifer returned the smile, genuinely.

"Let's go," Claire led the way into the hallway. "If _he_ is up on the third floor then the cult is probably on one of the lower levels. They have been defending the Erie County Devil for years, and they protested the hunts for him in 1909. But I don't think this thing cares what they do, personally."

"I don't think so, either."

The narrow corridor had doors on both sides. Fortunately, the rest of them were closed so at least for the time being, repulsive sights weren't a concern. God alone knew what types of horrific scenery lurked behind the wooden barriers. Images that either the demon or his demented followers left, doing whatever it was they did. The doors were marked with various last names and first initials. "Dr." was written as a title in front of each name. At the end of the path, the duo turned right and entered an identical hall.

Jennifer remained close to Claire as they walked side by side. She was about as relieved as she had ever felt. Despite the older woman being shorter than her, Jennifer sensed that as long as the two stayed together, her chances of leaving the hospital alive would increase substantially. Her fear of the place had actually subsided while they talked inside of the barren room. Hearing the demon walk past on the third floor might have caused her to lose it if not for her new acquaintance.

In addition to security, regrettably the badge on Claire's arm brought nearly the same conviction that entering church buildings did. The sight of it stirred up sordid memories of the evils she had taken part in. Jennifer felt compelled to confess her crimes. To admit that she deserved to be arrested right after they escaped the hospital. Or perhaps even put to death, considering that she had taken an innocent life herself. A man who had a family at home anxiously awaiting his arrival.

Jennifer had made the crucial mistake of watching the news the night she went for the "Lights Out" initiation. It was all she could do to blank out the image of her victim's face. To soothe the pain of bearing with the knowledge that she had murdered a human being. It was that or drugs. That's the reason the majority of gangsters were often heavily involved in drug abuse. Drugs removed inhibitions and enabled people to discount their screaming conscience. There was no other way for a man or woman with a remote sense of morality to continually live in such depravity. Some of them later killed at will and for little purpose other than greed, or a dirty look.

The night she became a murderer, Jennifer had turned on the television and lied in bed. Though it wasn't cold, she had drawn the blanket up to her chin. The shock hadn't worn off and permitted the blunt truth to settle in yet. Then a news program came on and one of the first reports was of a husband and father who was shot to death. They described his car prior to showing his picture and Jennifer knew it was him. She wanted to die that night. She wanted to die, now. Wasn't it fitting that she meet her fate at the hands of what she had converted into. _A cold, heartless, monster._

"Hey, kid," Claire slipped an arm around Jennifer and grasped her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," A startled Jennifer replied.

"You're crying," Claire told her.

Jennifer lifted her gaze from the tiles and turned to her older comrade. Claire's expression revealed pure concern on her part. Her green eyes had softened and she stared into the younger woman's. Searching them for whatever it was that had sparked her outward display of grief. Jennifer had begun their walk full of confidence. Her shoulders gradually sagged and her head lowered to the floor before her feet. Claire, trained to be observant, had noticed instantly.

Jennifer couldn't stand Claire's gaze, but decided not to turn away. As embarrassed as she was, attempting to hide the evident wouldn't help anything. _I am crying._ She hadn't detected the tears she currently felt running down her cheeks. Had she really gotten that lost in her self-loathing? The lump of despair in her throat, and the turmoil in her heavy heart had externally manifested without her being aware of it.

"What's wrong, Jennifer?" Claire asked.

"I… I'm fine, I said."

"We'll find Durrell if that's the problem," Claire squeezed her shoulder, encouragingly. "I mean it. You can trust me."

That was merely one out of a multitude of factors that had possibly produced the tears. The girl wasn't any older than 20 or 21. She had a natural toughness to her that Claire had read, and admired instantly. The average young woman wouldn't stand a chance in the face of the adversity that Jennifer had endured today. If she could be believed, and Claire trusted her every word. Driving through the usually quiet roads of Erie County, and having an altercation with the same beast that had destroyed a cop's life, had to be taking a toll on the kid's psyche.

"I'm not telling any details, but I deserve everything that has happened tonight," Jennifer admitted. "I've never been so scared before in my entire life. Not even when I was younger and it was my Dad I was worried about. But I've done so much wrong in my life… you would arrest me if you knew the half of it."

"It can't be that bad, can it?"

"Will you get Durrell out of here if something happens to me?" Jennifer asked.

She had to find the nearest window and jump to get it over with. Living with the guilt was an unbearable, yet deserving punishment. It was consuming her now and she could think only of escaping it. Falling headlong to her death was far more desirable than whatever the demon had in store for her. She contemplated a way to separate herself from Claire and carry out the deed. _Wait, these aren't your thoughts, Jennifer. You would never kill yourself, that's the absolute last thing to do. But then again, what else is there?_

"Sweetie," Claire turned Jennifer by her shoulders so that they were face to face. She reached up with one hand to tenderly wipe the tears from the girl's face. Taken aback, Jennifer visibly thought about pulling away but didn't. She was obviously stunned at how kindly she was being treated. The hesitation on her face faded and she allowed Claire to dry her skin up with her hand. "I'm ignoring my cop instinct which is to ask what it is you've done. You may or may not be exaggerating as a result of what you've been through tonight. Maybe you have done something terrible. Maybe I should take you in. Right now, I'm your protector and not a judge. You resolve things with God, and that's good enough for me. Okay?"

"I'm so embarrassed to be acting like a baby."

Smiling, Claire drew her in and embraced her. She was honestly no less shocked by her motherly behavior than the girl was. Consoling people had never been the detective's cup of tea. Today was different. There was something to Jennifer that she couldn't help feeling sympathetic toward. An odd connection lingered between them. She had mentioned her father seconds previously in a way that aroused Claire's suspicions. Maybe they did share a common past of some sort.

"Jennifer, right now you have to keep it together for your boyfriend's sake," Claire admonished. "But I hope that this is of some consolation to you, because it has comforted me in the past. I read his notes that he sometimes read to me himself before he passed. My Dad, I mean. He taught me that there are two types of sorrow that guilt produces. One is where you are genuinely sorry that you wronged someone. The second is when you are sorry mainly after you've suffered the consequences, or foreseen them. What hurts you?"

"What I did."

"Then you're on the right track, and you can work the rest out later."

"Thanks," Jennifer said once she was released. "In the middle of a hospital with a demon walking around and here I am, trying to get us killed. Sorry, my little guilt trips seem to be having bad timing." Something told her that it was prompted by the imprints.

"Not to worry," Claire grinned and gestured for her to follow as she turned to the hallway. "Now is way more convenient timing than later when we know he's around for sure. As long as you're going to be okay we can proceed. And don't be embarrassed, it was my dream to have a little sister to help out. Just don't get me killed…"

Seconds later, the couple was quickly approaching the end of the second hall. They had passed several doors without paying any of them attention. The clock was ticking away and they had two objectives to complete. Locating and saving Durrell out of whatever trouble he had gotten into was one. And then, with the two kids safely secured, Claire would have her opportunity to claim revenge.

On the wall a few feet from where the hallway branched off to the right, Claire and Jennifer paused to inspect a glossy, white sheet of paper. Unlike everything else in the hospital it was obviously new, and was fixed firmly to the wall by its four edges via four yellow tacks. The message the page contained was handwritten in black marker.

Therefore thus says the Lord GOD, "Because you have forgotten Me and cast Me behind your back, therefore you shall bear the penalty of your lewdness and your harlotry." Of those who worship the idol, "It devours patches of his skin; the firstborn of death devours his limbs." You did not listen, and now look what has become of our once sacred city. 'And he cried mightily with a loud voice, saying, "Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and has become the dwelling place of demons, a prison for every foul spirit, and a cage for every unclean and hated bird!"

"What does that mean?"

"Hm…" Claire tapped her chin with an index finger. "Sounds like a collection of Hebrew Bible passages. Harlotry referred to idolatry. Worshipping another god, basically. The God of the Bible hated that and condemned it as the worst of sins. To turn from loving Him to give credit to something else for what He's done for you. Picture it as a husband who did everything for his poor wife: takes her off the streets, cleans her up, gets her a well paying job, gives her the better deal on the rent… all to have her show her appreciation by cheating. Then she thanks the guy she's cheating with for all that."

"Unfortunately that happens a lot nowadays."

"Tell me about it. I have no clue as to the patches of skin or the firstborn of death. And the last one about Babylon… well there's one particular type of unclean and hated bird I can think of right now."

"There was… there was another one of these downstairs," Jennifer spoke as the image of the paper message on the entrance level returned to her mind. "Yeah, on the first floor in the bathroom. It was exactly like this –same bad handwriting and all. The message had to do with a land, I think. The beginning of it said 'remember his words' in big bold letters and then it mentioned what would happen if they didn't obey. It said that He would send the teeth of beasts to punish them. And that it would leave their highways 'desolate'. Someone tacked it up on the wall right next to an article about demon worship in the hospital. That's where I saw Huitzilla-whatever's name the second time."

"Huitzilla?" Claire snickered and Jennifer, realizing what she had said, joined her in a brief fit of laughing. "Nice."

The sound of a door opening silenced the women. It was from around the corner at the edge of which they were standing. No closer than twenty or thirty feet unless the lengthy halls distorted noises. A second later the same door slammed shut and the impact echoed through the corridors. Claire pressed Jennifer against the wall and assumed a position next to her, placing her own body between the girl and the open hallway.

"Are you insane? You know we shouldn't even be up this high in the building," An irritated man's voice followed the closing of the door shortly afterward.

"Collin, I don't fear that cursed devil you and your foolish associates play the harlot with," A woman replied in a deliberate, yet animated tone. "It's your fear of him that will one day lead to your mortal and eternal death. I come and go on these floors as I please because he can do nothing to harm me."

"He tolerates you, Talia," The man, presumably Collin, retaliated. "You know as well as I do that he could have killed you if he wanted to. The only reason he's merciful to you is because you're the daughter of our high priest. We all would have flogged you and thrown you outside to provide a feast for our brethren and sisters, otherwise—the great faithful warriors of time past who are honored by Huitzilopochtli by returning as his companions. You have so disgraced our company that I'm sure they would love to destroy you, themselves."

"Ha," Talia laughed, cruelly. "Thank God I no longer listen to your vain and stupid superstitions. Do you really believe that those are your ancestors out there? The same birds that would soil your head before they pecked you to death?"

"I know that they are!"

"You're sad, Collin. And disgusting. Your people's own paintings rightfully call them Legion – who are called that because they are many. Many demons, not the souls of warriors. I could laugh at you if not for the fact that you continue to rebel against the true God."

"They were right when they said not to listen to you. You are a deceiver."

"Open your eyes and see what has happened, you idiot! You and the priests hide out in the basement because you're terrified of the god who is supposed to be your defender. What happened the last time five of you ventured up to meet him on the third floor? One came back alive and the other four became a part of his house of pain. But, oh, that's right! What an honor he bestows upon his faithful parishioners. Sewing their bodies back together, preserving them, and hanging them up naked on the walls. I couldn't think of a more glorious way for my body to be treated when I die."

"Watch that tongue of yours, woman. He merely keeps the bodies of his beloved children…"

"On the wall with the bodies of those he kills out on the streets? The common people as you would call them?"

"There is a difference, Talia. And he merely places the bodies up to appease his own wrath, lest he slay us for our incompetence. You know in our book, it says of him that he wastes nothing. He keeps the bodies of his sacrifices, which are sacred since they are dedicated by his priests, and the bodies of his followers. He watches them and honors them in their deaths by allowing their physical forms to remain before him at all times. It is an exaltation and not to be mocked by the likes of you."

"Sad, sad, Collin. He merely misses watching the torment of souls he has damned in Sheol. He satisfies himself by having the corpses of his victims before his face. Your god is nothing more than a high-ranked devil under Lucifer. You still think he was a tzizimine? Fell from the sky and lost his kingdom, unrightfully?"

"That is what happened."

Talia laughed, heartily. "He was the artist of the angels. No one designed or created the beautiful things that he did besides his Creator. But he rebelled against the true God and was cast out of heaven. He will not reclaim his kingdom – it was never his to begin with. He is powerful, I grant you. But he is nothing compared to the God of Heaven. Less than nothing."

"I said, watch your mouth!" Collin warned.

"Now, because your ancestors worshipped him and did not listen, God has released him again. Granted him a physical body with limitations this time, according to your legends. And thanks to you, he will roam until the end. Your parents and my father remember the words of the prophets of those days. 'If you will not cease your worship of him whom you have been sacrificing to, and if you will not put behind you your vain imaginings – that you caused the birds to aide you by your own power, and that he will deliver you from your enemies – I will give to you what you ask for, but what you do not wish. I will permit the demon you worship to return. And he shall be with you perpetually, until the end of the age. He shall not be destroyed. He shall remain a thorn in your side, forever.'"

"Stay up here if you would like," Collin sighed, bitterly. "I'm tired of listening to you. You will not sway me to believe your lies. I have a sacrifice to attend to keep the master pleased. And I've been sent to retrieve the tanks. Excuse me."

"Go ahead Collin, and waste away down there. If you insist on following that devil to hell, then that's your choice."

"Enough!"

SMACK!

Recognizing the familiar sound of a palm striking a cheek, and hearing the elevating rage in Collin's voice, Claire drew her pistol and braced herself. She glanced back at Jennifer to see the young woman holding a hand to her face, as if she had been smacked. The faraway look in her eyes showed that she was mentally elsewhere. Claire frowned, and then stepped around the corner to survey the scene. She couldn't let the man beat on Talia even if she was putting herself in harm's way.

Collin stood above the woman roughly twenty feet into a wider hallway. They were right in front of the door their argument had probably begun in, and spilled outside of. Collin was a thin man of forty-five years old, Claire guessed. He had short, curly brown hair and dull blue eyes that were frozen on the newcomer in disbelief. His facial features by themselves would have presented him as the 'distinguished gentleman' type. _The hell is he wearing? _A tie and white collared shirt were visible, but everything below his chest was covered by a striped red, yellow, and black robe. A V-neck design exposed his traditional clothes underneath.

Talia sat on the floor at his feet, caressing a reddened cheek. She was in her late thirties or early forties but seemed years younger than Collin. Long black hair with grey intermixed cascaded over her shoulders and down to where her navel would be. She wore a dress, the green skirt of which reached her ankles, and a modest white blouse. Her pale blue eyes alone gave her a youthful appearance despite her age. They were piercing.

"Keep your hands to yourself," Claire ordered, aiming the muzzle directly at the man's chest.

"What are you doing here and who are you?" Collin asked, without a hint of concern on his face.

_That's alright, I'll blow that face off if he acts up._

"Who I am is none of your business," Claire retorted, walking toward them. "I'm here to kill that demon you worship and in the process, obtain sufficient evidence to put you and your sick friends behind bars."

"Hm," Collin smirked, smugly. "Kill Huitzilopochtli? I don't think so. The one thing this wench has right is that he will be here for a _long_ time. You cannot kill a god, my dear. Surely your education has taught you better than to believe such a preposterous idea. You will kill who has been on the earth for thousands of years? A warrior god, no less? And with puny weapons like that? Don't insult Huitzilopochtli. He'll pick you apart."

"We'll see," Claire paused a few feet away and extended a hand to Talia, removing neither her gaze nor the pistol's muzzle from Collin. "Come on, Talia. You seem to have some sense… besides provoking this loser."

"If provoking the demon doesn't frighten me, Claire, then be assured that Collin won't," Talia said, reaching up to accept the detective's hand.

"So much for my name not being his business," Raising an eyebrow, Claire firmly grasped Talia's hand and hauled her up to her feet. The woman was slightly heavier than she expected and she struggled a little before succeeding. Then she asked, "Are you the one leaving the verses on the walls, ma'am?"

"Yes," Talia admitted. "I am one of His prophetesses. I learned the truth about their _god_ the demon who calls himself Huitzilopochtli, the god of war. And supposedly the lord of the Tzizimime – the monsters who descended out of the sky. These people have become so deluded that they won't listen to reason. Whether it's from the law or from the God they once served."

"They were once Catholic or Protestant, I gather?" Claire inquired. "I have heard that Shady Dawn was founded by Catholics but some say the religion of Cephar has existed here since ancient days."

"That is true. There were people from branches of the Aztec tribes who worshipped a particular incarnation of Huitzilopochtli. They lived in this area and remained the dominant religion until St. Wesley arrived on a mission. He converted the majority of the tribal populace to Christianity and they gave up their foreign gods, including Huitzilopochtli. They became a more formal and dignified people, and sacrifices to him ended. Up until then, the demon had free reign in this area. He was able to come and go as he pleased, and they sacrificed to him daily to try to stave him off.

"Yet, the people made a covenant with Wesley's God to dedicate the land to Him and rid it of their demon veneration. That was how it went for several years. And then they were defeated in a war with enemies. Thinking that God had forsaken them, they sought out Huitzilopochtli earnestly. There were warnings from prophets like myself who called them to return to true worship. For 23 years, He was merciful to them and delayed judgment. They disrespected Him by continuing in their ways, so he permitted the demon to come again. He told them He would send the teeth of beasts against them. Instead of repenting they prayed fervently that their god would return. They knew it was on the horizon and yet they were so far gone that they forgot that he had been killing them and their children.

"There were some faithful believers who stayed in Shady Dawn, and God remembered us. He gave the demon a decaying body and a time limit. Only every 23 years, for 23 days… is he permitted to come to this area. And like fools, despite the evil he does _they _worship him."

Collin was sneering by now, "You have it all wrong, Talia. I don't know what some strange voice in your head is telling you, but this God of which you speak did nothing. It was our priests and hunters who pleaded with their ancestors to help them. Our god simply would not be appeased any longer so…"

"So you had to correct your deity," Talia replied. "How pathetic."

"Where is Durrell?" Jennifer stormed around the corner with her fists at her sides. She set her sights on the man and headed toward him. "I've heard enough of this nonsense. What did you do to him?"

"Durrell?" Collin grinned. "The name doesn't sound familiar, sorry."

"In the chapel," She responded. "One of you did something to him."

"Why on earth would we disturb someone seeking to find favor with our lord in his chapel? That would be-"

The word had barely left his mouth when Jennifer reached the trio. Her hands were already balled into tight fists so she slammed the knuckles of her right hand into Collin's lips. The force of the blow staggered the considerably larger man. He reeled backwards several paces and held his mouth, his eyes shut in pain. She stepped forward to continue her assault but Claire grabbed her arm and held her firmly in place.

"You little wench," Collin sputtered upon seeing the blood on his hand, and feeling it running down his chin.

"Answer her question," Claire still had the gun aimed on him. "Where is he?"

"Do you think I'm going to tell you and allow you fools to barge in on a sacred ceremony?" Collin inquired. "You, young lady, should be honored that your boyfriend will become a part of Huitzilopochtli. He's a strong young man and he'll serve a very good purpose."

"He's in the basement," Talia blurted out, evoking a glance of hatred from Collin. "They're planning to sacrifice him. They were waiting for Collin to return with the oxygen so they could use it to enter a state of altered consciousness. It's a part of the ceremony. But if he doesn't return within a certain time limit they will proceed as planned. We must hurry, if we're to save his life."

With that said, Talia ran past Claire and Jennifer. Claire maintained her grip on Jennifer's arm to keep her from following immediately. When the girl turned to her in protest, she pointed to Collin and said, "We need to cuff him first, and then we can head there together. I've been in the basement before and I know the routes there."

"Just let me go now while there's still time!"

"Your fists will only take you so far, Jennifer," Claire's eyes met with hers. "You barge down there and they'll kill you. God knows how many sick freaks like this dolt are waiting. Let me cuff him and then-"

"Fools!" Collin screamed.

The women had no time to react as Collin threw his own bodyweight should-first into Claire. If she had expected the assault she might have been able to stay on her feet. Instead, she was caught off guard and knocked violently to the ground. She hit with a loud thud as the back of her head bounced on the tile floor. Somehow, despite the shock of the sudden attack and the rough landing, she still clutched the gun in her left hand. Severe training had entrenched that instinct in her throughout the years. It was a small reprieve. When she opened her eyes she saw two identical men leaning close to her torso. The lights in the ceiling above them appeared to be spinning. _Oh boy._

Tensing her arm, Claire tried to raise the gun to plant a bullet in both of Collin's heads. Her attempt faltered weakly midway through the motion that should have been simple. The common handgun's weight felt like a 20 pound dumbbell in her hand. Her rubbery arm dropped uselessly to the ground while Collin kneeled beside her to grab the gun. She tightened her grip to hold on and brought her other arm across her chest to assist.

Jennifer turned and started en route for the hallway that Talia had disappeared into. She had gone the way she and Claire came from seconds ago. It was possible that the woman was also planning to take the same staircase that Jennifer had utilized to ascend to the second floor. Then again, considering that she obviously knew the building, she probably had a quicker course in mind. If she ran as fast as she could, Jennifer had a chance of catching up. _I have to find Durrell before it's too late. Can't let anything happen to him._

"You shouldn't have come here, little girl," Collin snarled, his hand wrapped around the muzzle of the weapon as he struggled to turn it to aim at Claire's body. "What made you think you could walk in here and kill a god?"

"Go to hell," Claire muttered through clenched teeth. Even her voice was weak, and nowhere near as aggressive as she hoped it would be. She had both hands on the weapon and Collin, using only one, was overpowering her with relative ease. The blow to the head had evaporated her strength and fighting with him was diminishing it further. _Have to get it together._ Her will wasn't enough to overcome her weakness and she watched as Collin's free hand found her throat. His fingers squeezed what little air was left out of her lungs.

To Claire's relief, Jennifer showed up standing above the two combatants. She reared back with one leg and kicked Collin in the throat with the tip of her shoe. He released the gun and fell off to the side, gasping for air and clutching at his neck. Gurgled noises escaped his bloody lips as he writhed in pain on the ground.

"Sorry I hesitated," Jennifer whispered to Claire, reaching down to her holster and detaching the handcuffs.

She tuned her attention to Collin who was glaring up at her in hatred. Taunting him, Jennifer smiled and then punched him in the face once more. All of her 120 pounds added to the potency of the shot and the man involuntarily rolled onto his side. She then hauled his wrists behind his back to apply the handcuffs. He was either dazed or unconscious and incapable of resisting. Once finished, Jennifer turned to a coughing Claire and asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah…" Claire's coughing stopped and she paused to take in deep breaths. "I'll live… let's go find your friend."

"I'm sorry," Jennifer took one of the older woman's hands in her own, and held her around the waist with the other. Then she gently guided her up to her feet, resisting the urge to rush her. _Have to have faith. You'll get to Durrell in time._ "I should have helped you sooner."

"Don't worry about it, kid," Claire said, shaking her head clear of its cobwebs. She was no longer seeing doubles which was a start. Her head continued to spin, however, and her legs were unsteady underneath her. "I'll need to take it easy for a minute so I can actually be of some help to you. Let's get moving now, though."

The duo retraced their steps with Jennifer patiently leading the way. She occasionally peeked over her shoulder to make sure that her comrade was okay. That was one nasty thump she'd taken hitting the floor. Currently, she was staggering every twenty yards or so. Her eyes weren't as glazed as they had been initially so her condition was improving. The couple passed the windows, neither of them paying the scene outside any attention, and soon entered the ICU.

"The staircase is right around the corner," Jennifer gestured to an intersection ten feet ahead that provided the two with the option of turning right or left. She had come from the hallway on the right and turned left earlier. "This way."

Jennifer turned the corner and abruptly froze in her tracks. Claire, who was hurrying to keep up, crashed into her, almost knocking her over. She grabbed and held the younger woman steady while opening her mouth to ask what was wrong. The question hadn't left her tongue when she recognized the fear in her eyes. It appeared that the girl hadn't been bothered by the collision. She was captivated by something of far more significance. Reluctantly, Claire followed her gaze to the path before them.

The hallway ended thirty yards into this section of the hospital. Roughly ten yards from where they stood were two objects that Jennifer had hoped she would never see again. A couple of stretchers had been wheeled into the middle of the floor. White sheets covered the bodies on the beds, concealing the identities of the victims, as well as whatever torture they had been subjected to. Old, dried, blood stains covered the majority of the sheets. The bodies were positioned diagonally, their heads in the direction opposite the women. Beyond their feet was the door to the stairwell that Jennifer had climbed earlier. _How did he get past us?_

"Oh, no," Jennifer stepped back. "It's him."

"What?" Claire murmured, confused.

"He brought those bodies here," Jennifer explained, her eyes glued to the covered corpses. "He must have gotten past us to the first floor."  
"Who is_ he?_"

"The _demon_. Come on, let's find another way. Please."

"I'll take care of him," Claire brandished her pistol.

"I don't think that's going to work, Claire."

"You're right," She tucked the weapon into its place in her holster, and simultaneously drew the silver gun with her right hand.

The weight of the firearm combined with gravity almost ripped it out of her grasp. Claire lifted her left hand to support her hold on the handle. She slipped her index fingers into the trigger guard and raised the gun, pointing the muzzle at the door ahead. Her right-hand fingers fitted comfortably into the black rubber grips of the handle and the fingers of her left hand detained them, ensuring that her grip was solid. It would also lessen the likelihood of an injury due to the usually brutal recoil of the weapon. Handling a gun of its type with one hand was practically suicide.

"Is that a department standard gun?" Jennifer asked.

She had removed her eyes from the gurneys to stare at the massive weapon. It was longer from front to back than her head – maybe fourteen or fifteen inches. Most of it in the silver barrel alone. Claire looked like a little girl playing with daddy's gun handling the monstrous firearm. Its name was skillfully engraved in the barrel. _460 S&W Magnum._

"No, a personal item of mine," Claire remarked, stalking forward. "I'm suspended so I won't get in any more trouble than I already am."

Although Magnums were allowed in certain departments throughout the US, the 460 Smith and Wesson model hadn't been approved as of yet. Claire doubted that any police force would have need for the gun. In any imaginable circumstances, no matter how horrible, using the 460 would be overkill. The main employment of the weapon, which fired its gigantic bullets at an average of 300 feet per second, was hunting big game at long ranges. Her father had favored an older model in his hunting adventures and Claire acquired a preference for the Magnum as well. She was too young to fire one prior to his untimely death. But she had become enamored with the gun after seeing it during a hunt he took her along for.

Tonight, it wasn't overkill. Her father and his senior partner had reportedly shot the entity no less than two dozen times. The bullets of the standard handguns succeeded in dropping him. Despite that, they weren't able to put him down for good or even injure him, apparently. Not if he was back, and had the vigor to chase and overtake a speeding vehicle on foot. The Magnum was the first weapon she considered bringing before leaving her home. Merely having the weapon on her hip increased her confidence that she would be capable of killing the creature. Holding it in her hands, she was 95 percent sure that she could take him out.

The troublesome notion that not even the mighty gun would protect her from her enemy crossed her mind. She dismissed it. Hunting parties had failed to capture or kill him in 1909, and all attempts before and after were unproductive. There was no rational reason to believe that Claire's fortunes would be any different. She wasn't relying on logic, tonight, though. Only her driven desire for revenge and the defense of her newfound friend. She had no choice but to succeed.

She paused and sucked in her breath as the door opened. _Here we go. _To her disappointment and relief, the monster in the hat and coat didn't emerge through the space. A third gurney was shoved into the hallway headfirst in the same direction of the former two. The top of the stretcher crashed into the bottom of one and the sound of the steel clanging together jarred Claire. She winced, and then progressed toward the triad of corpses. The body atop the third was mangled, and she was grateful for the cover. Odd clumps of flesh or clothing stuck out against the blood soaked sheet blanketing the corpse. Fresh blood. Someone killed recently or an unfortunate soul who met a particularly gruesome death.

Either Claire or the creature would suffer a similar fate in the next couple of seconds. In anticipation of the oncoming confrontation, her heart began pounding in her chest. The rubbery feeling returned to her arms and the gun's weight seemed to double. She firmed her grip up on the gun, knowing she couldn't afford to be shaky now_. _Not on the verge of an encounter with a demon, a god to the insane followers of the Cephar religion. A threatening menace to the rest of society, who was smart enough to know he was pure evil. He was, in himself, a living urban legend. A mythological figure. The physical manifestation of the fears of adults and children alike.

Claire never dwelled on her second motivation for finding and destroying him. Living in peace would've been impossible if she had. In the recesses of her mind, however, it occurred to her that she wanted to hunt it to negate its opportunity to target her first. She had no guarantee during the last twenty three years that he wouldn't come. It was always a frightening possibility in the back of her head. The luxury of the other children in school to be afraid and run from imaginary monsters had not been something life afforded her. What she feared was very real. Until now, besides witness testimony, she had not seen it with her own eyes. Yet it was as real as anything else she'd known.

Reaching the door, Claire pressed her hip into the third gurney and pushed her weight against it. The wheels creaked underneath the pressure of the body atop the stretcher. She had to turn and press her back against the contraption, driving her feet into the ground and pushing, to move it just three feet. That was sufficient room to clear the doorway. Satisfied, Claire aimed the muzzle of the Magnum, head level, at the door. She supposed that her enemy would be roughly a foot taller than her. That meant she would hit him in the chest or throat area. _Works for me. Come on out…_ Every muscle in her body tensed as she prepared for the inevitable.

Ten yards away, Jennifer had concluded a brief, silent prayer for the brave woman's safety. She now watched the scene with bated breath, her eyes locked on the door inches from the Magnum's muzzle. Her hands were clasped together and she was equally hopeful and uneasy. She would have been content to leave without ever seeing the _thing _again. Until now she had observed him from considerable distances and in the shadows. His face had remained a mystery and she preferred it that way. Being there to witness his death was worth it, nevertheless. She wouldn't have to live with the fear that he was out there, somewhere. That was worth being exposed to his true nature.

Movement behind Claire drew Jennifer's attention to the gurneys. _What was that? _To her horror, the third body that had been shoved through the door slowly sat up. Its head rose off of the canvas and its shoulders and torso followed suit. The _corpse _rose methodically, as if being carefully pulled or lured. Jennifer gasped and tried to speak, to say something to warn her friend. She managed to utter quiet, panicked sounds that conveyed nothing she was struggling to declare. Claire, oblivious to what was happening to her rear, remained concentrated on the door.

_What the hell is that? _The body finally came to a sitting position where it lingered, momentarily. She wondered if it could see her through the blanket, whatever it was. It seemed to be glaring at her through the blood-soaked sheets. Then it used its hands under the sheets to tug the blanket off of its torso. The cloth fell onto the lap of the demon, complete with his hat and coat. His grayish-green, reptilian skin was clearly visible to Jennifer in the hospital's lighting. She could see his face from the nose and down. His hands came into view next and he clenched the blanket in both of them. He then whipped it off of himself in a quick, silent motion.

_Have to warn… come on, talk, talk, talk!_

"Claire!" Jennifer fought to get the words out. "Claire, look out!"

Too late. The demon leaned forward and fell off of the stretcher. The instant his feet touched the tiles he reached for Claire and seized her by the back of her shirt. She swore and started to turn to him when he wrenched her off of her feet. A shocked Claire had no time to kick, scream, or do anything else as she was picked up and flung into the wall across the hallway. She hit hard and sank to the ground in an unmoving heap.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Seven

Chapter Ten

With wide eyes, Jennifer watched the motionless form of the woman who had become her savior. The detective had shown up out of nowhere and alleviated some of her fears. It was comforting to not be alone, and more so to be accompanied by a person like Claire. Her presence had a calming effect which assured Jennifer that she would leave the hospital alive. Now, Claire was unconscious or dead and her hopes were fading fast.

Lifting her gaze to the creature, she finally saw his face in the lighting. He stood with his head tilted back so that his hat no longer hid his demonic visage. Eyes of human shape and size stared at Jennifer from underneath the hat's brim. The look wasn't threatening. He was calmly observing her and hadn't advanced yet. It was the color of his eyes that disturbed her. The irises were a piercing yellow-orange, unlike any she'd seen on a human. The eyes themselves were sunken in and bordered by black circles, accentuating the yellow.

He had several thick black lines on his cheeks, almost wrinkle like, that went down into the flaps bordering the edge of his mouth. The flaps were pressed tightly against his face and gave him the appearance of an old man, only twisted and monstrous. They came down from his ear region and were lined by a tendril that followed his jaw line on both sides. Where it met the skin hanging from his beside his dark lips, at his chin, two black talons were turned upward, perhaps holding the flaps in place. Two more pairs of tendrils lined his head on both sides with talons at the end of them.

Slowly, Jennifer retreated. She wanted to put as much distance as possible between she and the monster without moving too fast. He might become agitated and attack swiftly if she did anything more. Outrunning something that had caught up to the van traveling at 70 miles per hour wasn't likely. She needed to devise a plan, and that would require time. Time that she currently didn't posses. _Have to distract him somehow or I'll be dead before I know it._

Adding to her problem was that she was far too terrified to think clearly. The demon was a mere twenty feet away and he could close the gap in seconds if he wanted to. His presence, his stance, and everything about him was intimidating. The people of the Cephar religion worshipped him as a cannibal god. Although she didn't know for sure, and didn't desire to learn, she had a feeling that the sharp teeth hidden by his black lips were used for human consumption. She couldn't imagine a worse death than being _eaten._ Especially if he decided to sink those awful fangs into her while she was still alive. Perhaps that was why Ben had screamed so pitifully in the forest. And why the creature's worshippers feared him as they did.

Jennifer had managed to retreat ten paces when the demon took two steps forward. He stopped almost as soon as he started and resumed staring at his prey. He was playing with her, she realized. He had her where he wanted her and was content to take his time. She was on his turf, in his home – if it could be called that, and she was alone with him. No Durrell, no Claire. No escape.

Whirling around, Jennifer ran. She passed the passageway leading into the Intensive Care Unit and went straight. A sign on the wall indicated that she was entering the Adolescent & Pediatrics section. There had to be something up here that would kill or slow the creature down. If not, then maybe she would come across the alternate route to the basement that Talia had used. She had gone another way and was probably safe for the time being. Unlike Jennifer, all because she stopped to help Claire. _Don't think like that. No matter what happens you did the right thing._

Then again, what were her options once she did find a way to escape the floor? It wasn't like the demon wasn't able to follow her. He was faster than she was and was obviously familiar with the setting. There was no way out. Even if an exit showed up the birds were still waiting for her outside. They would peck her to pieces before she reached Claire's jeep.

Glancing over her shoulder, Jennifer saw that the demon was walking menacingly in her direction. He was thirty yards back and losing ground every second. His speed, though, kept him from falling far behind. His face had disappeared into the shadow created by his hat but his piercing eyes peered out at her. He had also parted his lips enough to reveal the sharpened rows of teeth within. Despite the distance, she could see that they were smeared with blood. _And yours is next._

_Not if I can help it._ Jennifer turned to face front and continued running as fast as her legs allowed. Adrenaline coursed through her veins to fuel her on. She was tired, and had been deprived of sleep for hours. Carrying Durrell had worn her down and the effects hadn't completely dissipated, yet. Regardless, she wasn't letting that slow her down, or discourage her. She had to press on and she was going to. Otherwise he would kill her, and her boyfriend would die at the hands of the cult downstairs. With Claire at least momentarily out of commission, Jennifer was his sole chance of survival. _Have to pull through for all of us._

Dried blood stains were scattered over the floor in random places. Blotches of the liquid coated the walls in certain areas as well. The old imprint of a bloody palm and three fingers remained intact on one tile. What had happened to the fourth digit was a mystery best left undiscovered. She sidestepped or leapt over the dried puddles and streaks that she otherwise would have landed in. Evading a relatively wide puddle caused her to stumble a little but she quickly recaptured her balance.

The hallway came to a dead end twenty yards ahead and to avoid getting cornered, Jennifer ducked into an open doorway on the left. It led into a large room with gurneys pushed against the far walls to the left and right. Atop them were mostly naked corpses in various deformed states with their feet facing the center of the room. Some of them were missing their heads, others lacked their hands, feet, or legs. The majority of the corpses had thread sticking in and out of their skin. Body parts had been neatly sown back on. Stitched up skin over stomachs and backs signified that internal organs had been removed. _And eaten._

Shuddering, she rushed through the ghastly scene, surprised that the odor wasn't as atrocious as she would have expected. None of the bodies appeared to be in advanced stages of decay. Besides the wounds and injuries that caused their demises, they were in good condition. There was something peculiar though, about the cadavers on the last few rows of stretchers. The skin of their bodies had an odd, identical texture. In the light, the white and brown natural casing of the demon's victims glistened.

In front of the door opposite the one she had used to enter the room were three silver stands. Each of them supported wide trays of the same color, constructed of stainless steel. Sharp hypodermic needles littered two of the platters. They were used for injecting or extracting substances from the body. A dozen of the medical syringes attached to the needles contained either green, yellow, or orange chemicals. The last tray was occupied by six oversized spools of thread with thin needles on top of them. The image of the sown up laceration in Damien's side flashed through her mind. She blinked until it disappeared, and turned to check the room's entrance.

She had made the mistake of allowing the mortuary to distract her. The doorway she had emerged through was blocked by the frame of the demon. He stared at her, grinning as if he were proud to catch her admiring his handiwork. Admiration was the farthest thing from her mind. His grin faded and he advanced, walking speedily toward her.

Jennifer spun on her heels, grabbed the doorknob, and ripped the door open. She jumped across the threshold and slammed it shut. She was left in an enormous dark room with a smothering atmosphere. The rest of the hospital had been penetrated by the cold air outside the walls. In here, a smoldering heat was trapped. Adding to it was the odor Jennifer had smelled in the van the previous evening. Rotting flesh and old garbage. It made up for the scent of death she had expected to find in the former room. She cupped a hand over her nose and waited for her eyes to adjust while jogging forward.

The area was dimly lit with candles set on stools and tables throughout the floor. In the center of the room, facing Jennifer, resided a chair that resembled a massive throne. On either side of it were tall wooden tables with big candlesticks on top of them. The fire in the candles well illuminated the throne. She examined the chair briefly in passing and her stomach turned when the details became clear. It was crafted out of human skeletons. Arms, legs, and other body parts were molded together to create a sturdy seat. The edges of the armrests were patterned into demonic heads, complete with horns and sharpened teeth. At the crown of the throne, a single human skull with its jaws open in a scream, stared down at her.

Her breath caught in her throat and Jennifer coughed to clear her airway. She staggered and tripped over a table, knocking it to the ground. Managing to stay on her feet, she continued to trot through the room, hoping there was another exit. She was unable to ignore the ball of dread in the pit of her stomach. The sensation wasn't new to her, she'd experienced it often, and usually right before something terrible happened. It was worsened now by a prickly feeling running up and down her spine. As if someone were gently running a finger along her back. She was being watched, she realized. Raising her eyes, Jennifer looked around for the cause of her discomfort and regretted it, instantly.

The candlelight wasn't sufficient to show her everything she suspected was there. Yet, what she couldn't see scared her as much as what she did. The walls and the ceiling were literally encumbered with corpses. Major portions of the surface were concealed in the shadows that covered the room. Yet, in the spots that were not darkened, she saw the bodies. Or at least parts of them. Men, women, and even young children. All of their eyes, at least those that _had eyes_, were either glued to her or rolled up in the back of their heads. They bore two resemblances to the corpses in the room behind her. The skin of each body was glossy, as if preserved, and their wounds were repaired with thick thread.

A girl, nine or ten years old, was on the wall fifteen feet to her right. A woman who Jennifer thought was a larger replica was pasted beside her. They shared shoulder-length blonde hair of an identical color and thin texture. Their faces were also similar, only the bigger one was in her mid to late twenties. She had to be the mother of the girl. The daughter had been left in a pink, flowered skirt. Her mother was not afforded the same dignity for whatever reason and was completely naked. The skin of her abdomen had been sown up over a large wound.

Staggering under the weight of the room's deathly oppression, Jennifer moved quickly to the far side of the hellish tapestry. She trained her eyes straight ahead of herself to avoid seeing any more of the bodies. The demon took no prisoners. Young, old, black, white, oriental… they were all there, and he had murdered and presumably eaten a part of them. And after he was finished, he put their remains up on the wall to relish in his evil. Or perhaps to reminisce. He was void of mercy.

The empty, dismal gazes of the nearby corpses sickened Jennifer further. They had all once been living, breathing, human beings. The monster had slaughtered folks with families, sons, daughters, parents, wives, and husbands. Eyes that had, in the past, glowed with hope and enthusiasm were dull and lifeless. Some faces displayed the pain and terror of their final moments. A few were angry, and many were blank as if they had died suddenly. Jennifer wondered if the mother and daughter back there were innocently driving through one of Erie County's Streets when they met the beast. Sadly, they hadn't gotten away. No one had, it appeared. And now, _she_ was his target, his desired food._ Not if I can help it._

Jennifer reached the end of the room where double doors awaited her. She took the knobs and at the same time, heard a door open far behind. Her hands touched the material and she realized that they weren't steel or plastic. Instead, her fingers had enclosed cold, rigid, objects with lengthy digits at the tips of them. _Hands. _Repulsed, she yanked one door open and fell out in an alcove.

She landed on her knees and her stomach churned, sending a stream of bile up into her mouth. Opening her lips, she spewed the nasty, green liquid on the floor. _I didn't think I had anything in there to throw up. _As the last of it came out,holding her tightened abdomen, she climbed to her feet and stumbled around the putrid puddle - barely noticing a sign pointing to the doors she had come from, "DINING ROOM".

Exiting the alcove, Jennifer turned left and ran with new vigor. She wasn't going to let that _thing_ kill her and display her body shamefully on the wall. Whether she deserved it or not, she couldn't conceive of a worse fortune. _Have to find a way out. There has to be something or someone that can help me. _Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. _It's not over yet, Jenn, don't cry._ The double doors to the diner burst open and she stumbled and fell on her stomach.

Her will to live alone, and not her strength, drove her up to her feet again. She peeked back to see the demon walking into the hallway. His pacing demonstrated more urgency, as if he had grown tired of the chase. The playful, teasing grin was gone and had been replaced by a toothy scowl. His gleaming yellow eyes were also narrowed, displaying his irritation. Time was running out.

Pumping her legs and arms feverishly, Jennifer propelled herself further into the corridor. She turned right when the path left her no other option and entered a shorter hallway. Here, she realized that this was where she and Claire had been minutes earlier. The numerous sections of the hospital might have confused her if not for the paper warning written in marker.

She raced around the corner, turning right once more, and arrived in the place of the confrontation between Talia, Claire, and Colin. The man was sitting up with his back against the wall and his hands still cuffed behind his tailbone. He jumped, startled by her sudden appearance, and stared up at Jennifer with a bewildered expression, apparently wondering why she had returned. He opened his mouth to speak as she ran past him, "Where's your friend?"

As if in response, the demon stalked around the corner carrying a knife in one hand. Upon sight of him, Collin started screaming and pushing himself away along the floor. In spite of their reverence for the beast, he and his insane fellow worshippers knew that it wasn't prejudiced. It would kill him just as soon as it would anyone else. And unlike most of its victims, he had knowledge of what it did to those it wanted. He'd heard the horrified screams of a woman being eaten the night before. Her pain and dread were so extreme that although she was on the second floor, and Collin in the basement, it had sounded like she was in the room with him. They were blood-curdling, hopeless shrieks that had deprived him of sleep for hours.

"Huitzilopochtli," Collin stopped trying to escape, seeing that the demon was nearing. He got onto his knees and lowered his head to the floor. "Huitzilopochtli, please spare me, your follower. We have done everything to please you and to keep your strength during your heavenly wars. I…"

Jennifer had reached a steel door at the end of the hallway and she looked back to see what was happening. The demon stooped over and grabbed Collin's left wrist in one of his hands. Collin closed his eyes and begged for his deity to spare him. Unmoved, his captor raised his eyes and glared up at the girl. _You're not getting away,_ was what she read. Without removing his gaze from Jennifer, he lifted Collin off of his feet and wrenched his arms up behind his back at an unnatural, counter-clockwise angle. The man screamed as an audible _pop_ announced the dislocation of his shoulders.

Then the demon pressed Collin's wrists against the wooden wall, and stabbed the knife in his free hand through the man's palms. The screams intensified as blood spurted out of the fresh openings. The blade of the weapon dug deep into the wood until only the handle remained visible, partially embedded in his flesh. This left Collin standing with his arms up behind him, and his hands fixed to the wall. His blue eyes went wide in shock due to the pain he had never come close to experiencing in his life before now.

Satisfied, the demon walked on, heading straight for Jennifer. She shoved her shoulder into the steel door and stepped into a medium sized room. It was occupied by a pool table in the middle of the floor. Four cylindrical gas tanks were propped atop the surface of the table. Talia had mentioned that the cult employed the oxygen to produce a sort of natural high. Unfortunately for him, it must have been Collin's turn to retrieve them.

Large cardboard boxes were piled up high alongside the walls to the left and right. Tools and various objects had broken through the corners of a few of the containers. None of them appeared particularly useful so she looked to the pool table. Leaning against it, near to her, was a thick wooden mop. The end with the cleaning strands was dipped into a bucket filled with dirty water. That could do if she had no other alternative. _I'd rather just get the hell away from him. _Jennifer raised her eyes to search for the door that had to be opposite her. There was none. The room was closed off other than…

The door behind her burst open and slammed roughly into her back. She was thrown forward and hit the ground hard, rolling closer to the table. Ignoring the stinging pain running up and down her spine, she forced herself up to her hands and knees. Her entire body quivered with the effort, seeming to work against her to lessen her already minuscule chances of survival. _Can't give up. _No matter how much pain she was in, or how terrified she was, she couldn't let it end like this.

The demon sauntered inside the room and towered over her trembling form. Seeing him supplied Jennifer with the vigor to persist. She put one foot on the floor underneath her and used it to push up to her feet. Too unsteady to maintain her balance, she stumbled into the pool table and hit the back of her shoulder on the thick mop. _Oh, no. _He was way too close and she wasn't fast enough to evade him. Not in her weakened condition. It was like every ounce of her body except her mind had resigned and given up on her.

Desperately, Jennifer turned to scoop up the mop in both hands and swung it at her enemy. She used her arm strength and her bodyweight to put as much force into the blow as she could muster. Her momentum even brought one of her feet off of the ground. The demon raised his forearm into the path of her strike with unbelievable speed. CRACK! The mop snapped in half at the point of impact, leaving her clutching two feet of the wooden remains. Where it had been connected to the other half, the stick was abruptly cut off in jagged splinters.

"Get away from me!" Jennifer cried, jabbing the short stick into his abdomen. It failed to penetrate his skin and she reared back to try again. The demon swatted the weapon out of her grip, sending it flying out of sight.

With all of her alternatives exhausted, and her escape routes sealed, Jennifer froze. She had nothing else to do. She was as good as dead.

The beast seized her, holding her by the throat with one hand, and leaned closer. Jennifer turned her head to the side as much as his grasp allowed, not wanting to look at him. He lowered his head to her shoulder and slowly raised it, running his scaly nose along her neck and face. She felt his nostrils sucking at her skin as he inhaled, breathing in her scent. A narrow slit opened on the ridge of his nose, fluttering rapidly. At this range it, along with his sniffing, produced a deafening, awful sound.

At the conclusion of his first inhale, the demon closed his eyes and appeared to savor her odor. He tilted his head backward and allowed the smell to circulate in his snout. She reached up and placed her palms on his chest, struggling to push him away. He didn't budge. After a moment he ducked his head and took another long, frightening whiff of her neck and face. His mouth opened eagerly during the inhalation and the top row of his teeth skimmed her cheek, dragging on the flesh. Jennifer began crying.

When he had inhaled twice more, the demon adjusted Jennifer's face until she had no choice but to return his gaze. His yellow irises glowed with evil as they burrowed into hers. His stare was paralyzing and weakened her already futile attempt to resist him. Her arms dropped to her sides, and she waited for the inevitable, unable to do anything but look into the depths of hell, reflected in his eyes. He hauled her face closer to his so that her eyes were on level with his mouth. Then his jaws opened, exposing two and a half inched fangs as he growled hungrily…

"Jennifer!" A woman's voice called.

Snarling, the demon spun around to see who was interrupting him, still holding Jennifer. At the same time, she maneuvered to the right to peer around his shoulder. Claire stood in the doorway, the Magnum trained on the monster's head.

POW! The muzzle of the gun flashed and emitted a brief outburst of flame. Claire held on tight to maintain her grip as the weapon's recoil jolted through her. She watched the demon's head snap back violently and his hat topple off to the floor. An unearthly wail informed her that the bullet had hit its intended target.

He didn't release Jennifer completely, but his grip on her neck loosened. She took advantage of the opportunity to pry herself from his grasp and run toward the doorway.

Recovering from the shot, the monster lowered his head to glare at Claire. The bullet had sunken into his forehead three inches above his right eye. Smoke or dust leaked out of the giant wound. No blood. _I don't need it. _She fired again and the impact sent him reeling into table. His weight bumping into it was sufficient to break the two forelegs, collapsing the table in the process. The oxygen tanks toppled over and rolled down the newly formed incline. They struck the ankles of the demon to no effect. He did, however, take his eyes off of her to see what had touched him. She lowered her aim to his left knee and pulled the trigger. The portion of his trench coat and the pants leg right under the knee tore off. He dropped onto the knee, no longer able to bear weight on it, and released a second howl of pain and frustration.

"Run!" Claire said to Jennifer, who was standing behind her.

The girl obeyed and ran as fast as she could through the hallway. Claire retreated several steps to keep up, and then took aim at the tanks behind the felled beast. He looked up at her spitefully, clutching his knee with one hand. _And this one's for my Dad. _She fired once more and then turned immediately to race in the opposite direction.

Ka-BOOM! The inside of the room exploded, and shook the entire hallway, if not the building. A burst of energy hit Claire, sweeping her off of her feet and into the air. She was carried past an unconscious Collin toward the end of the hall. Jennifer had already turned the corner and was, for the moment, out of harm's way. Claire felt a burning heat on her back as she finally landed on the floor shoulder-first. After tucking the magnum into its holster, she glanced up to see a stream of fire launch over her head. Within the torrent were tattered bits of coat wrapped around the balled form of the demon. Orange flames trailed him like the tail of a comet, propelling him forward.

Wood and brick were no match for the fireball which tore right through the wall. Flames followed it outside and Claire watched, keeping her head low to avoid other objects that might be flying by. Strong hands grabbed her wrists and hauled her to one side. Debris rained down on her legs as she was dragged out of the blast zone and into a safer hallway. She looked up at the same time Jennifer helped her to her feet. They mutually used their arms to support each other, sensing the weakness in the other's body.

The two exchanged a relieved glance, and then turned to watch the scene in the fiery hallway. Bits and pieces of door, wall, and table were burning on the floor. Smoke had already come billowing into the hall and obscured most of it from view. Claire, though, had seen what she wanted to. And that was the monster thrown from the hospital in a raggedy, smoking heap. He had been motionless and quiet. As close as he was sitting to the oxygen tanks, he had probably lost a few pieces as well. _Won't be able to stick around and be happy about his death. The smoke will take us out quick if we're not careful._ In addition, Claire's job wasn't quite over yet. She had finally avenged her father, but Jennifer's boyfriend and the cult were another matter.

"Glad to see you're okay," Claire said, patting the top of the younger woman's head. "It looked like I was too late for a second there."

"I thought _you_ were hurt," Jennifer grinned and hugged her. She was surprised by the joy welling up in her heart, but was content to allow it for the time being. After narrowly escaping a gruesome death she figured she deserved the respite. "Thank you, Claire."

"No problem, sis," Claire ruffled Jennifer's hair and winked. "Let's get out of here."

She led the way and the two headed away from the smoke-filled hallway, basking in their momentary victory.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eleven

CLICK. The metallic sound stirred Durrell from his thoughts—sending an echo throughout the enclosed space that had become his home for the last hour. It was similar to the noise produced by the locking or unlocking of a door. Maybe a latch being slipped into place. He lifted his chin off his chest where it had been buried and shook his head, hoping to kill the nagging concerns that had plagued him since he awoke. Opening his eyes a moment later dispatched the colorful shapes swimming behind his eyelids.

A black wall met his gaze. _What else is new? _Fortunately, prayer had dramatically toned down the fear, overwhelming despair, and aura of evil that permeated hell. All of those feelings had clung to him even when he realized he was out of harm's way. Now they were reduced to dull memories, although he vividly recalled the experience. For whatever reason, despite his repeated requests, God wasn't taking that away. His attempts to concentrate on less stressful matters were counteracted by a sense of loss, and the loneliness he felt not knowing where Jennifer was. He thought he'd heard her voice earlier, but was probably hallucinating.

Two voices had briefly conversed nearby and upon straining his ears, he learned that neither one belonged to his girlfriend. A man and a woman spoke back and forth – their words muffled through the stone encasing Durrell. That hid the nature of the conversation, yet confirmed that he had been detained. They referred to "prisoners" several times, and he knew they were talking about him. Fifteen minutes ago, the talking ceased and left only the sound of crackling flames in the distance.

Since then he'd been left to ponder just who had imprisoned him in the first place. Few of the answers he came up with were logical, and only one was desirable. It was possible, he figured, that a cleaning crew had apprehended him to wait for the arrival of the police. Naturally they would have assumed he and Jennifer intended to vandalize the hospital. _Makes sense. Sort of. _His problem with that option was that whoever had taken him had separated the couple. It was unlikely anyone would go through the trouble to house them in tiny secluded shafts, especially in a spacious environment.

Unfortunately, he was leaning toward the probability that demented murderers inhabited the abandoned building, and maybe the entire town. Durrell's grandmother's warning about the "evil" town of Shady Dawn seemed fitting. The birds had emanated right out of a nightmare and the hospital itself was an eerie entity.

Click-Chak. Something snapped into place, and then a loud dragging noise filled his ears. Simultaneously, a bright light appeared, piercing through the darkness like a sharp sword, scattering the opaque wall. The shadows dispersed, fleeing upwards to escape the glowering light source coming from underneath. Squinting, Durrell raised his arms to shield his eyes, partially obstructing his vision. He peered through the narrow space between his limbs to watch a part of the wall ascending. Light stole its way inside around the shapely hips of a woman wearing a dark purple dress. _Who the…_ Her torso became visible soon. Then the door reached its height, clearing three feet of space from top to bottom and two and a half in width.

A pale, petite hand held the underside of the door, presumably supporting its weight. The hips leaned back as the woman's shoulders and head lowered into view. She was a youthful thirty something, with black and white hair bordering her face, and pale, intense eyes staring through long bangs. Not quite the woman he was hoping to see, but not bad, either. Fortunately, her shoulders blocked out the light enough for Durrell to lower his arms.

"You're Durrell, aren't you?" She asked quietly in a soothing, cool voice.

He found himself at a loss for words. In part he was hoping that she wasn't some kind of a friendlier incarnation of Ahava. Her eyes were relaxed, and her expression calm. Yet she didn't have the same cold, uncaring demeanor that his guide through the hellish vision possessed. Durrell managed a slight nod.

"Your girlfriend and Claire should be on their way any minute," She said, glancing up at her hand. "This door isn't weightless, you know. Do you plan on staying in there, young man?"

"No… but where's Jennifer?"

"Upstairs. She's safe for the time being and in good hands with the detective. It's you I'm worried about, and the same for her. If you sit around and make me explain everything, you won't make it out of here alive. Now, move it."

Leaning to one side to clear the opening, the woman extended her free hand to him. Briefly, Durrell hesitated. She appeared to be on his side, and he doubted she could hurt him if she weren't. Regardless of how long he had been sitting, he had nothing to worry about from a little woman like her. Still, who knew what else was out there with her. And, like Ahava, there might be more to her than her petite frame let on. _On the other hand – I certainly won't get to Jennifer sitting around in here. _Sighing, he decided to take his chances. He firmly grasped her hand and allowed himself to be drawn out, working with her by scooting forward on his heels and butt.

A few seconds later he sat on the edge of the alcove, resting his elbows on his knees. The effort of pushing, in spite of the aide from the woman, had tired him already. _Not good. _As troubling as it was, what else should he expect considering the night he had endured? Glancing down at the torn white sheet wrapped tightly around his right bicep reminded him of the injury. Running from crows and disturbing visions had reasonably distracted him until now. Though the wound no longer hurt, the dry red liquid covering the sheet and the sleeve under it implied its seriousness.

Grimacing, Durrell lifted his eyes to survey the scene outside the recess. He was near the center of a widened and lengthy hallway, illuminated by unusually dim fluorescent lights lining the ceiling. Along the pale blue walls on both sides were single rows of dark wooden doors, identical to the one his liberator currently held. They were built in three feet above the ground, separated by roughly four feet of space. Sturdy, steel padlocks attached on the bottoms of the doors connected them to the plaster wall, and held the wood in place.

The floor was made up of dirty white tiles and Durrell followed them to his left. Fifteen yards away, the hallway branched off to the right. A regular door was marked "Generator Room" at the head of the intersection. No doubt, he was in the basement of the hospital. The woman mentioned Jennifer being upstairs and the couple had entered on the first floor.

"Who are you?" Durrell asked, returning his attention to her.

"My name is Talia," She replied. "The cult that inhabits this hospital has lived in Minikin Capital since the town's inception. They worship a number of deities, but the one they call on the most is Huitzilopochtli, the 'god of war'. Eventually they took over the hospital by sneaking their members into the staff. They constructed the holding cells here and built a temple in the main room to hold sacrifices. Of course no one believed the people who spoke up about what was going on. They were laughed at and mocked. Everyone thought it was just contrived nonsense, despite the disappearances and complaints.

"Then the hospital was closed down due to the controversy caused by the rumors. More than half the town had left by that time."

"Why are you here?" Durrell dropped off the ledge onto his feet. Immediately his legs began trembling and he staggered, trying to maintain his balance. Talia quickly ducked underneath his outstretched arm and caught him around his torso to hold him upright. Although he still didn't know much about her, he had little choice but to trust her for now. _Besides, she could have stepped out the way and let me fall on my face. _Realizing that, he relaxed his arm across her shoulders and allowed her to support him. It would take at least thirty seconds for the blood flow to regulate in his legs. Until then, he had to rely on her.

"Let's get moving – we can take it easy, but standing around will be dangerous," Talia warned, turning toward the "Generator Room" at the end of the hall. "I waited until they grabbed the poor prisoner in the cell before yours. They'll be coming for you soon. And I know they sent someone to check on the explosion upstairs. Unless they're that afraid of…"

"What? What were they holding me for?" Durrell glanced over his shoulder. Double doors occupied the opposite side of the hallway. Lying on the ground before them was a large golden basin filled to the top with a liquid. He couldn't tell quite what it was from the distance. _I'd rather not know._

"To sacrifice you to their god. In their ritual, the priests cut out the heart of the victim before the altar. That way the demon smells the fear, and accepts the sacrifice if it pleases him. Then they eat the body parts."

"How do I know you're not working with them?" Durrell stood firm, preparing to fight her off if necessary. It appeared that she was leading him away from the danger but he wouldn't bet his life on it. "Why else are they letting you go free? And why didn't you help the person in front of me?"

"I'm the daughter of the high priest. As sick as the cult is, they won't go against their rules. They'd be committing a cardinal sin if they murdered the daughter of the high priest. Besides that, the last sacrifice was willing. I'd suggest, Durrell, that you ask your questions while we walk."

"Fair enough," Durrell nodded.

Two men stepped around the corner, eliciting gasps from Talia and Durrell who stopped immediately. The men also paused, standing side by side so that their massive frames obstructed the width of the hallway. They were at least 6'3", easily towering over Durrell and the woman. Powerful upper bodies were fully displayed by what appeared to be Native American or tribal attire; cords with tassels attached wrapped around the biceps, and wrist bands. Thick strands of yellowish grass hung from their waists, held in place by leather belts. Although they were shirtless, war paint coated their faces, shoulders, and abdomens, forming distinct patterns on the skin. The man on the right, a black man, had on sandals and clutched a large axe in one hand. His companion was white with a tanned complexion – his neck decorated by gold and silver chains. Durrell cringed upon noticing the dark blood dripping off of the axe's blade.

Instantly, Talia tried to push him aside, demonstrating further whose side she was on. Shaking his head, Durrell positioned himself between her and the monstrous men. She resisted, but he forcefully kept her at bay. Regardless of the terror that had seized him upon sight of them, he refused to allow anything to happen to the woman.

"Talia, shouldn't you be licking the dust off the floors upstairs?" The white man asked – his voice raspy and menacing. "Doing something useful with yourself instead of interfering with our rituals?"

"You have no right to hurt this young man," She replied. "I won't let you touch him."

"The explosion upstairs has cost us precious time," He narrowed his eyes, scowling at her. "Which means you can't interfere. Huitzilopochtli will destroy us in his wrath if we do not follow the prescribed manner. He…"

The man thrust his index finger toward Durrell, striking fear into his heart.

"Must be offered on the steps of his throne before fives minutes have passed. Otherwise, none of us will be left by the afternoon."

"And you'll have time to murder him and feast on all the sacrifices in less than five minutes? Or have you been eating them as you've gone – even though your laws don't allow for that? How much do you really revere your demon god? You'll break some of his rules to follow others? Make sense, Ahab."

"We have little choice seeing that Brad hasn't returned, yet," Ahab reached across the black man to take the axe in his own hand. He slung it over his left shoulder, splattering some of the blood on his cheek, and held it in place with the blade facing the rear. Then he started forward. "Collin was probably killed in the explosion upstairs. We couldn't find him. So we're also missing out on being able to better connect with the divine. He will pardon our trespasses if we at least keep to the correct timing."

"Durrell," Talia whispered to him, pulling on his wrist. "They won't hurt me so your safest bet is to get behind me and make a run for it while I distract them. Please!"

"Are you sure they'll leave you alone?" He asked, balling his hands into fists. _I can't just let them kill her, if they really will. _Ahab was swiftly closing the distance between them, meaning they had to come to an agreement, and fast.

"Yes I'm sure, now move!"

Talia dragged him behind herself and stood in the path of the cultist. The approaching man was a giant compared to her, yet she placed her hands on her hips to wait. Meanwhile, Durrell braced himself to spring past the two the moment they engaged. Hopefully Talia would fight for the axe and succeed in keeping him from using it. A few seconds was all Durrell needed. Afterwards he could figure out a way to deal with the unarmed, but strong black man who remained motionless. It appeared that he too was going to see what happened before acting.

When Ahab drew within six feet of the valiant woman, he paused, sneering. His disdain for her bothersome defiance was clear. He hated her, and she knew it. Hopefully her assurance in their "integrity" wasn't misplaced. Turning his head aside, Ahab suddenly swung the axe from his shoulder. The broad part of the blade struck Talia on the side of her head, producing a sickening _thud, _and dropped her to the floor upon impact. She landed on her stomach and lied there, unmoving. One arm pinned underneath her and the other sprawled above her head. The sheer force of the blow alone might have knocked the head clean off of a lesser person. Hers was intact, although there was no way of telling the extent of the damage caused. Not without physically examining her. _God, I pray she's okay._

Any thoughts he had of assisting her were muffled as Ahab stepped over her body, wielding the weapon in both hands. Currently, unconscious and no longer hindering the rituals, she wasn't a factor. _I am. _The difference was, considering what they had in store for Durrell, they probably wouldn't hesitate to use the sharp edge of the blade on him.

"She'll have a goose egg for a while, but she'll live," Ahab said, presumably to his partner, although his eyes were glued to Durrell. "Come quietly or I'll cut your ankle and carry you. Your choice."

"You'd better pray the high priest understands," The black man said, walking toward them. He stared pitifully at Talia's motionless form. "But we should hurry, for now."

Regardless of whether they used the axe or not, Durrell recognized that fighting against the men would be vain. Ahab and Daniel could probably crush him with their bare hands. The weapon was merely an additional menace to ensure his compliance. For now, he figured, the wise decision was to go along and not present himself as a problem. If he were fortunate, the opportunity to escape would present itself. If not… _then God help me._ Durrell held his hands up to demonstrate his surrender. Ahab nodded and motioned to his partner, who subsequently spun the younger man around to face the doors. Then, Daniel grabbed the back of his shirt and marched him forward.

When they arrived at their destination, Daniel seemed to hesitate. Durrell glanced down to see that the golden bowl on the floor was filled to the top with fresh water. Ahab lowered the sharp edge of the axe head into the liquid, letting it soak long enough to contaminate the once pure water, turning it a misty red. He drew the blade out almost immediately and gestured toward the doors. Taking his cue, Daniel pulled one of them open wide and ushered his captive inside.

Stepping across the threshold brought Durrell into another world. The refreshingly cold, still air in the hallway was replaced by an atmosphere reminiscent of that in a rain forest. Oppressive sweltering heat settled on his skin, encompassing his entire body like a blanket. Inhaling became increasingly difficult, causing him to have to struggle just to bring air into his lungs. All the saliva in his mouth had evaporated, leaving a dry tongue clinging to the roof of his mouth. He sucked in the oxygen as deeply as he could manage and tentatively released it. _Don't want to let it out not knowing if the next breath will even be possible. _The simple convenience of satisfying one's lungs wouldn't be afforded him here.

Behind him, the door closed, and Daniel started forward again. Durrell's attention was snared next by a raging fire atop what appeared to be an altar. It was a sturdy square object, five feet in length and four in height. The "altar" was fifteen feet up, resting on an additional floor at the top of a stone flight of stairs. Each step alone was at least a foot and a half tall. They led to a square structure made from the same material. Round pillars stood proudly on either side, perhaps decorating the entrance. The crowns of the pillars reached the ceiling 35 feet above the ground. Inscriptions had been painstakingly etched into them, but details weren't visible over the distance. Further inside the patio were additional pillars, aligned in single rows after the foremost couple. Everything beyond the front four was hidden from the floor. The bright red flames illuminated them and provided light to the remainder of the enormous room.

Six people, dressed similarly to Daniel and Ahab, waited near the base of the steps. The group was lined up facing each other in two rows of three, standing side by side. Only the two closest to the room's entrance were in full view. They were women, and wore black bras and long chain necklaces to cover their breasts. Four feet of space separated the rows, which left an adequate gap to safely drag a victim through the midst. A seventh person, a large man wearing a floor-length black robe, sat on the second step. He raised his head to observe the approaching trio and nodded, acknowledging their presence. Then he rose to gingerly ascend the stairs.

One of the women, a young blonde lady, leaned toward Durrell, staring intently at him, "Where's Brad?"

"Don't know," Daniel shrugged. "Should have been back here ten minutes ago. He called to say he'd be on time."

"We'll start without him," The man in the robe announced loudly, turning midway up the stairs. "Why should we all incur wrath on account of one's foolishness? Bring him up – we have but to conclude the ceremony. Time is short."

"Yes," Ahab replied, eagerly.

The time to escape had come, but suddenly, Durrell realized how weak he was. His legs began to shake slightly, and his arms had felt rubbery all along, as if they weighed a hundred pounds each. Either the lack of oxygen had depleted his strength, or he had been void of it to begin with. Perhaps his fear of the men and his suspicions about Talia had distracted him from his true, pathetic state. Earlier he'd planned to fight and make a run for it when his captors least expected it. Now, such an effort was little more than wishful thinking. If the oppressive air was to blame, unfortunately it wasn't taking the same toll on Daniel, who continued to push him onward. Despite being shaky, his own legs obliged and supported him, carrying him between the rows of people. They leered at him hungrily, eyes gleaming in the firelight with anticipation. The blonde woman smiled and spoke quietly as he passed her, "I hope you enjoyed the drug I put you on, dear. It makes our sacrifice's dreams quite pleasant while they await this honor. I was there to take you on a little tour, myself."

_Is this really it? _Durrell pondered once they had reached the steps. He was positive that his anxiety would prohibit resistance even if he wasn't _drugged_. The fear coursing through his veins added several pounds to already heavy limbs, and his throbbing heart increased the effects. He had no energy or power. Barring a miracle, he was as good as dead. Ahab held the axe in his right hand while grasping Durrell's arm with the left. He brandished the weapon to let him know what would happen if he defied him. Resignedly, Durrell lowered his head and allowed Daniel and Ahab to drag him up the steps. Climbing up to his own damnation. _This is exactly what I deserve._

He had left his house less than twelve hours earlier, though it seemed like an eternity ago, intending to murder an innocent human being. Attempts to console himself with the excuse that he had a good cause had failed. There was no justification. Had the van contained a man heading home after a hard day's work, he might have killed him. Those few seconds that passed as Durrell aimed the gun at the window could have ended a much different way. If the driver had leaned his head out to warn that the Toyota was drawing too close… it might have surprised Durrell enough to cause him to unintentionally squeeze the trigger. Instead, the driver had turned out to be something far worse than any gang member – an evil being itself driving the streets of the city in search of victims. _Is it really any more evil than I am?_

Sighing, Durrell lifted his gaze to the man in the robe three or four steps above him. The high priest, _Talia's father, _he presumed. He was a monstrous specimen and stood close to seven feet tall. The black coat covering him was unable to hide the powerful build underneath it. Daniel and Ahab were nowhere near as intimidating in his presence. His eyes were a pale green like his daughter's, yet without the compassion. Sharp eyebrows and a devilish goatee added to his demonic features. It practically hung from his chin, ceasing three inches below it in two points, both groomed to appear as horns. He watched Durrell with a slight smirk on an otherwise stern face.

Daniel and Ahab stopped two steps away and bowed, bringing Durrell to his knees in the process.

"Children," The priest bellowed, eyes roaming over the room's inhabitants. His fearsome silhouette was outlined perfectly by the flames behind him. "Our merciful gods have provided the 23rd sacrifice we needed to appease Huitzilopochtli. With all the turmoil occurring in and around this town, we need his presence more than ever. You all know, as I do, that in two weeks he must leave us to return to the heavens – now ruled by his enemies. The most powerful of which is revered in the eyes of his type…"

He glanced down at Durrell in disgust. "Each time our god returns to his altar, his glorious temple made by our hands – we are but one step closer to helping him achieve victory. And he has promised us that once the enemy is defeated, he will bring us up into glory. There we shall build him a greater temple, and serve him forever. If we are faithful here to do all that he has asked of us. 23 hearts, to allow him to live another 23 years, and the arms of this sacrifice for his strength. So that he will be mighty in battle. Ahab and Daniel… raise him up."

The men tightened their grips on his arms and hauled him up to his feet. Durrell, despite his weakness and fear, drew back to pull against them. Falling down the stairs and breaking his neck was far more desirable than what they had in store. His efforts were in vain, and merely irritated his captors and their master. They didn't release him and easily kept him in place. _Can't just let them kill me like this. _He kicked Ahab in the knee with all the vigor he could muster, hoping to at least cause him to stumble. It produced a grunt, and nothing more. Angrily, the priest seized Durrell's collar with one hand and launched the other toward him. The young man briefly saw a fist as big as his head flying into his face… then he collapsed in the hands of Ahab and Daniel.

They picked him up, shifting to opposite ends of his body. He was conscious, but vaguely aware of anything occurring around him. Daniel now held his ankles securely in both hands, and his partner supported his upper body with his forearms locked under Durrell's armpits. The men held on roughly to prohibit any further attacks, although it was apparent none would come. He had no fight left in him. The pain was scarcely registering at this point.

The priest entered his vision, wielding a long, thin knife. In one quick movement, he tore Durrell's shirt, exposing his chest. Then he lifted the blade above his own head and placed his free hand on Durrell's forehead, obstructing his vision. He spoke, "Lord Huitzilopochtli, accept the final sacrifice of the day from our hands…"

"Hold it!" A woman's voice called.

"Talia…" The priest growled, looking expectantly toward the entrance of the room.

All eyes, except for Durrell's, followed the priest's. Five or six paces beyond the double doors stood a red haired woman, arms raised, clutching a pistol in her hands. The weapon's muzzle was trained on the priest and she held it steady, seemingly unbothered by the bizarre scene before her. Her black uniform and the badge-like patch on her left shoulder hinted at her profession. Shaking her head, she spoke in a surprisingly commanding tone for a woman her size, "No, not Talia."

"Who are you? And what's the meaning of this interruption?"

"I'm going to do more than interrupt if you hurt him," Claire warned, taking a few wary steps closer. She was careful to maintain her distance from the six people standing at the bottom of the stairs. Their glares alone were almost sufficient to keep her at bay. As one, they peered through her, teeth clenched and eyes seething with hatred. Being within arm's reach of any of them would be unwise. "Trust me, I'm a good enough shot to put a bullet through your right eye – which I am inclined to do about now – unless you listen to me. No one will be sacrificing anything to your god tonight, or any night."

"What makes you think I fear death?" He challenged, lowering the knife. "Even if you do manage to kill me, one of my loyal followers will reach you long before you can escape, or do any more damage. Would killing me be worth the torturous death they'd inflict on you?"

"You have your flunkies put him down gently on the steps, and we all have a chance of leaving alive. Besides, don't you think I have backup on the way?"

"A cop," The priest snarled. Then he turned to the men on the steps and ordered, "Put him down."

They carefully lowered him to the step above the one they were on, watching Claire for any signs of trouble. That placed Durrell between them and the priest, which really wasn't any better of a spot than before. _These guys are definitely not the loons you find in the backwoods somewhere. They're meticulous – and all the more dangerous because of it._

"I'm assuming you're not from Shady Dawn," The priest said. "But if you're in a nearby town, you know that the police are powerless against us. We own them here, and you'd be hard pressed to build any kind of a case with them in the way. And if you are somehow successful in killing us… your own life will never cease to be in peril. Our numbers are much greater than what you see here."

"Oh, I bet," Claire grinned, bitterly. "I do have a question, though. Which one of your men worked over your dear daughter Talia to get her out of the way?"

"Shut up, you…" Ahab began.

"Quiet," The priest ordered, not removing his gaze from the woman. "What are you saying?"

"Your daughter was lying on the floor outside the doors to this room. She had a big goose egg on the side of her head… was bleeding, too. I can assure you that young man lying in front of you wasn't responsible. Judging by the size and shape of the wound, I'd say it was a weapon."

Grimacing, he lowered his attention to the men standing directly below him. Ahab was watching Claire over his shoulder and Daniel had lowered his head, the shame in his expression obvious.

"Daniel, what happened? Lie to me and I'll feed you with your tongue."

He glanced nervously at Ahab, who noticed the gesture and its meaning. He protested, "Wait a minute…"

In a motion nearly too swift to see, the priest leaned forward and extended his right hand, still gripping the knife. He swiped it across the throat of Ahab before he had an opportunity to react. Claire saw the silver blade glisten briefly in the light and then the priest returned his hand to his side. Blood instantly spurted out of the open wound, landing on Daniel and Durrell. Ahab clutched at his neck, hands fumbling. He couldn't hold on due to the liquid literally pouring out. Sickening wheezing noises were created by his attempts to take in air through severed lungs—shrill, and inhumane sounds. His body toppled and fell off of the step to the side, out of view.

"I didn't… what the hell is wrong with you?" Claire asked, adjusting her finger on the trigger. She hadn't seen the attack coming and by the time she knew what was happening, Ahab's throat was already severed. "Do something like that again and I'll drop you!"

Below the feet of the priest, Durrell was rousing. He had instinctively rolled onto his side to avoid the blood falling seconds ago. Now he was shaking his head, using one hand to wipe blood off his face. Dazed, but starting to come out of it. _Have to buy him a little more time._

Seemingly oblivious, the priest said to his followers, "My daughter may be a pain in the neck… but it's her position that must be respected. I have faith that in due time she'll be turned from her delusions. That being said, the next one of you who puts your hands on her will get worse than Ahab."

Meanwhile, Jennifer had silently entered the room through a back entrance. Talia had given her instructions which turned out to be accurate, much to her surprise. She and the detective found the odd woman lying unconscious on the floor. 30 seconds were spent reviving her, and 60 passed before she was able to speak coherently. A full frontal assault, she warned, wouldn't succeed in saving Durrell's life. Prior to falling asleep, she advised them to use the alternate entrance directly to the temple. Claire and Jennifer devised a plan based on her description of the massive chamber.

The crackling flames and agitated voices on the other side of the altar effectively masked whatever noises she did emit. _So far. _Currently, Jennifer squatted with her legs in front of her, feet planted firmly in the concrete surface. Her spine and the backs of her arms were pressing into the altar – relying on the strength of her legs to attempt to move it. She and Claire had briefly pondered who was stronger, and specifically in the lower body region. One person would have to distract the cult, allowing the other time to perform the grunt work. Slightly taller and boasting a thicker overall frame, the younger woman had been mutually agreed upon. She hoped they had not erred in judgment.

Her entire body, it seemed, was drenched with sweat. Fortunately, the material coating the altar remained cool, unaffected by the sweltering heat source atop it. That didn't shield her, however, from the blaze roughly three and a half feet above her head. The cotton fabric of her shirt clung to her skin like a wet glove several sizes too small. _Feels like I'm in a wet tee shirt contest in hell,_ she remarked. Sweat had even seeped through her jeans, and was constantly pouring onto her thighs from her face and hair. She had already been forced to close her eyes to avoid being blinded by the drops.

Adrenaline fueled her to continue, along with the knowledge that two lives depended on her. Claire wouldn't be capable of fending off eight or nine demon-filled cultists on her own. _They might attack her any second and render our plan useless. _It was a risky and foolish idea, Jennifer conceded, but all that mattered was whether it worked or not. She thought she could feel the giant altar giving up ground, begrudgingly sliding along the floor. The possibility that it was her imagination deferred a minor sense of achievement, until she realized that her legs had definitely straightened some. _It is moving. _Grinning to herself, she brought her right foot back a few inches and resumed the effort. The power in her legs was building enough to continually budge the altar, a centimeter at a time.

"I do want to know why you still worship something that would slaughter you, provided the opportunity," Claire said, raising her voice. She noticed the ever so slight movement behind the priest. _I hope he can't hear that. "_I know enough to realize that he couldn't care less about you whack jobs. If he is a so-called warrior god, then why doesn't he bring his ugly face down here to help you?"

Her words cut the hearts of the demon's worshippers. A few of them winced, as if physically hurt, and one of the two women took a step toward Claire, reaching down to take hold of the small axe strapped to her waist. She wrapped her fingers around the weapon's handle and paused, daring the intruder to utter another insult. The others weren't as bold as her, but the rage on their faces suggested they weren't far behind. For his part, the priest hadn't budged, nor did her comments disturb him. If they had, he certainly wasn't showing it.

He narrowed his eyes and peered to the right lower corner without turning his head. _Crap. _A second later, the pale irises suspiciously rolled back to Claire. Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach when she read his expression. Something had given her away. _Think, fast! _He stepped up onto the next stair, eyes glued to her.

"He can't protect you now because I killed him," Claire announced. "That big explosion upstairs? I blew that freak right out of the hospital with the oxygen tanks you losers get high on. He's dead!"

"You're lying," The priest muttered, ascending another step. He appeared agitated despite his denial. "You can't kill a god."

"Want to bet? Take another step and I'll drop you where you stand."

"Why? Are you protecting someone?" He smirked. "You realize that if you shoot me, both you and _she_ will die, don't you?"

_She? How does he know?_

"Get up, Durrell!" Claire shouted, lowering the pistol to the woman holding the axe's handle. She was in the process of drawing it when Claire fired. The bullet skimmed the woman's hand and she cried out in pain, releasing the axe to let it clatter on the floor. Perfectly aimed, just as she expected. "Come on, kid, move it!"

While the remaining woman went to help her friend, who had staggered off to the side, everyone else reached for their weapons. Simultaneously, Daniel raised his axe and prepared to launch it.

_Come on! _Jennifer positioned the heels of her feet closer to her butt, which was a mere twelve inches above the ground at this point. She tensed, and then pushed against the immense object once more, having heard the explosive gunshot and the angry voices following it. The situation had taken a turn for the worst, and time was running short. Gritting her teeth, Jennifer shoved her body into the altar with every muscle in her body working together. The altar lurched forward, creating a racket in the process, and disappeared from behind her - leaving her to drop hard on her backside.

Hearing the tumult, Durrell sprang to his feet and leapt off of the steps, ducking under the outstretched hand of the priest who was trying to stop him. He'd known the near sacrifice was jumping even with his head turned. His hand grasped empty space and he growled, watching the monstrous altar rocket down the stairs toward him. It struck each step on the way but they failed to halt or slow its momentum. The priest set his feet and lowered his shoulders, aware that dodging it wasn't an option. SLAM! The altar hit him with such force that he was thrown down and to one side, slamming into a step before tumbling to the floor, out of sight.

Daniel was three steps from the floor where his comrades had hastily dispersed, fleeing to both sides for cover, when the object crashed into his legs. It dropped him instantly, and then relentlessly bore on, rolling right over his head and torso. A loud, wet crack reverberated through the room as his skull was crushed under half a ton of unyielding stone. Finally the altar came to a stop at the foot of the stairs, sending spurts of hot flame onto the floor around it. One fireball landed on the leafy skirt hugging the waist of one of the men. He screamed and ran frantically toward his companions, slapping the flames with his hands. They drew back, yelling for him to stay away.

_What are you waiting for, your cue? _Jennifer asked herself. She had lied on her side the entire time, probably five seconds although it seemed much longer, captivated by the destruction the altar had wrought. Frowning, she pushed up to her feet and started to descend the stairs. One step down her legs turned into heavy rubber and almost buckled underneath her. Gravity yanked her upper body forward, nearly draping her face first across the steps. She held her arms behind her and sat down on her heels, quickly countering the natural pull. Fortunately, it was enough to save her from the plunge. _Rats. _Glancing to the side of the stairs, she couldn't see where her boyfriend had gone. The fire still left some of the room bathed in deep shadows. _Not like I can get down in my shape, anyway. _Feeling helplessly stranded, she cupped her hands over the sides of her mouth and called, "Durrell – are you okay? Do you need help?"

"I'm – I'm fine, how about you?" He called, sounding out of breath. The words were barely audible due to the commotion ensuing.

"I'm trying to get down to you," She replied, elated to hear his voice.

"No! Just…"

"I'll take care of him, Jennifer," Claire interrupted. She paused to elbow one of the men in the face as he attempted to grab her from behind. Her stiff bone audibly broke his nose on impact, bringing streams of blood out of his nostrils. A swift kick staggered him and permitted her time to speak again, "You meet us in the hallway, and be careful out there. Now!"

During its descent, the altar had left bits of fire scattered on the steps. They would be difficult, yet not impossible to evade. At least three cult members had not been incapacitated. In her condition a confrontation wasn't advisable. From where she sat, she couldn't see Durrell or Claire, but knew he was safe in the detective's care. Jennifer's interference might change that… and endanger her unnecessarily as well. _I might just become an extra liability for Claire. _Frowning, she stood and scampered in the opposite direction, leaving behind the chaotic scene.

A brief glance at the top of the staircase ensured the detective that Jennifer had departed. Thankful that now she only had two to concern herself with; Claire returned her full attention to her own predicament. The blonde woman wielded a miniature axe, seemingly intent on prohibiting her from reaching her destination. Her posture was firm, ready to pounce, and her wild eyes were staring a hole through the detective. For now at least, the others weren't a problem. She'd dealt with two of them, two more had been caught in the fires, and the rest were nowhere to be found. _Leaves you and me…_

"What's your name?" Claire asked.

"Alexa," The woman replied proudly with the reflection of the fire dancing in her eyes.

"Alexa, I don't want to kill you – just drop the axe and leave," Claire said, wondering if it was wise to attempt to reason with an obvious psychopath. _Takes one to know one. _"It's over here. Finished."

"You and your accomplice have hurt my master, killed my friends, and insulted my god today. Maybe even taken him from us. You're not walking out of here alive unless you step over my rotting carcass."

"Is this all you have?" Claire inquired, shaking her head. "Is this all that your life consists of? Nothing else to live for except death, violence, and hate?"

"Oh, I do. Children. A husband who doesn't know that I worship these gods – a well paying job. But this is my real family and my real home."

"I can understand dying instead of denying your faith. But why die to avenge your god? Don't you see that he's not what you think he is? Some warrior who protects you? He practically killed Collin upstairs and he'd just as well do the same or worse to you. Please, drop it and let me move past. It's not worth it."

"Never!" She cried, lifting the axe over her head and charging.

Stepping back, Claire dropped to one knee to remove herself from the line of fire. Simultaneously, she brought her gun up in both hands, aiming at the woman's legs. She pulled the trigger twice, hoping to compensate for the narrow window of opportunity afforded her. One of the bullets found its mark; it punched through Alexa's right thigh, causing her to drop the axe and fall on her stomach. Screaming, she grabbed the injured limb and writhed in anguish as blood seeped out of the small opening. Placing the weapon into her holster, Claire hurried toward the woman. Alexa was too distracted by her pain to notice the detective kicking the axe aside, out of reach. Then she searched the side of the steps to determine where the young man was.

"Durrell, I'm here to rescue you," She called.

"I've heard that one before."

Groaning, Durrell rolled onto his side. He was lying atop a mass seven or eight feet above the floor. The heap was compiled of relatively soft, yet sturdy shapes which, thankfully, broke his fall and spared him a probable injury. Depending on how he landed, falling to the concrete floor from midway up the staircase might have been fatal. Whatever was underneath him had absorbed the impact. That left him to deal with his other physical concerns: a pounding headache thanks to the priest's fist, exhaustion, and the debilitating heat – further sapping his already depleted strength. Sucking the life right out of him. Jennifer's voice had provided the burst of energy he needed to move onto his side. _She's waiting for you… somewhere nearby. Have to move on for her sake._

He opened his eyes again as his vitality returned, sharpening his senses in the process. It suddenly occurred to him that the back of his shirt was soaked. A similar, thick liquid had soiled the side he currently laid on. Grimacing, Durrell lifted his head to search for the woman who claimed to be there to assist him. After the events of the morning, he wasn't too apt to trust any strange women. Especially any that showed up asking him to follow them. Once again, however, he had little choice.

The scenery surrounding him had cleared. Hot orange fires raged throughout the room on the floor and walls. Lying across each other were two bodies being consumed by flames. A third figure stepped carefully around the roasting corpses and headed in his direction. It was a woman, holding a gun in both hands. She canvassed the room with her eyes – apparently unable to locate him yet.

_Have to get moving before the fires grow worse. _Reluctantly, Durrell climbed up onto his hands and knees where he paused to steady himself. He immediately groaned when his right hand settled inside of something wet and spongy. The liquid and a soggy material quickly enclosed his hand up to the wrist. Peering down, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the unusual lighting. As they did, the mass supporting him slowly began to form similar, yet distinct outlines. Bulges appeared before him, along with body parts. Heads, torsos, legs… his own right hand had sunken into a hollow carved inside a muscular chest.

"Hell no," Durrell yanked his hand out of the hole and crawled over the heap of bodies toward the room's entrance. He balked in revulsion at the feeling of his hands and knees landing on human body parts, some covered with blood. Once or twice his outstretched hand fell on a face. For his stomach and sanity's sake, he refused to even glance down. Adding a visual to the disgusting surface wouldn't accomplish anything. _Except making this worse. _He raced furiously for the end of the pile and upon reaching it he was met by Claire, who extended a hand to him. Instead of accepting the offer, he rolled to the floor and dry heaved.

Noticing what the mass behind him was made of, Claire was tempted to say something smart. _Save your sarcasm, detective. _Heeding her own advice, she glanced around to see if they were still alone. The cult members, besides Alexa, were nowhere to be found. Unless they had fled the building, though, there was a chance Jennifer would run into them and incur their wrath. _Can't let that happen._

"We have to find Jennifer and quick. I don't know where the rest of those crazies went off to. Can you manage?"

"Yeah," He nodded, staggering up to his feet – purposely avoiding looking at his blood covered hand.

"You won't escape him," Alexa called from the floor, still grasping her thigh. She glared at Claire with venomous, tear filled eyes. "He'll get both of you and skin you alive for this. You'll wish you were never born."

"We can't leave her here…" Durrell looked to the detective.

"No," Claire said. "You know how to use a gun?"

"I'm not going to…"

"Go ahead and meet Jennifer in the hallway. If you run into trouble, shoot to kill unless you're good enough to take out a leg. I didn't go through all this trouble of rescuing you two just to let you die now. If they attack, be ready to do what you have to. At least to protect your girlfriend. Understand?"

"Yes ma'am."  
"Get upstairs to the front entrance where my jeep is and wait for me there."

Claire handed him the gun and briefly watched him jog toward the exit. Then she approached the woman, who sat up and spat at her. The thick glob of saliva landed on her right shoe. Smiling, she spoke, "It's getting nasty in here. Even if the fire doesn't reach you – the smoke _will_ kill you. You're coming with me whether you like it or not. Give me trouble and I'll knock you out and take you anyway."

"Why won't you just leave me?" Alexa began backing away, using her hands and feet to move along the floor. She didn't seem to realize that she was cornering herself. The impenetrable stone wall was ten feet behind her. "You've destroyed everything I have. It took us two years to construct this temple. My own hands helped put all of it together. Now it's ruined."

"Your mom must have been proud," Claire walked after her, moving slowly to refrain from appearing aggressive. At the same time she wouldn't let the dangerous woman create too much distance between them. "Let's go. You won't be able to take revenge if you die in here."

"Go to hell."

"This is close enough for me," Claire said, wiping sweat from her forehead. She noticed one of the fires was getting dangerously close to obstructing the exit. _No time to waste. _"Please, just take my hand."

Alexa scowled when she finally backed up into the wall. Apparently realizing her predicament, she reached into her waistband and procured a small knife. The blade was a mere four or five inches long, but its razor sharp edge glistened in the firelight. She held it between her body and the detective's while her other hand felt along the wall. Claire hesitated. She wanted to keep Alexa alive to see if she could be helped. Even if that were unsuccessful, she had to have useful information on the cult. Perhaps the missing pieces Claire needed to present her case. For both reasons, she stood her ground.

"Alexa, you don't have to…"

"Die and pass on into the world of my master?" Alexa tilted her head to one side. "Or spend the rest of my life in prison – being pumped for information I'll never give out. Loyalty may not mean much to the modern world. But to us, it's everything."

Reaching across her body, Alexa stabbed the knife into the wall between her spread index and middle fingers. There was a loud click, and then a section of the wall – with the size and proportions of a large door, sunk in several inches. Claire retreated, not wanting to fall into a trap. Unfazed, Alexa let her body lean back into the door. It turned to the left in a counter clockwise motion, bringing her along.

The door turned completely sideways at one point, displaying a room lit by candles behind it. The miniature light sources were placed atop cloth covered stools and one table. Simultaneously, a figure came into view standing directly behind Alexa. Its position in front of the candles left it covered in shadows, but showed its frightening silhouette. Claire made out a muscular form covered in scattered places by torn clothing, and a large, oddly shaped head. Light shined through raggedy white hair showing over its shoulders, which seemed to be coated by a thick, leathery material. At its sides hung oversized hands with talons on the tips of the fingers. _Him?_

Before she could shout a warning to her, the figure leaned forward and grabbed a handful of Alexa's blonde hair. She screamed and threw her arms up to fend it off. Her free hand found its hand and she clawed and pulled on the fingers, trying to pry them loose. When that didn't work she stabbed and punched. The attempts failed miserably, and it began dragging her into the recesses of the room – effortlessly hauling her weight along the floor.

Claire whipped out her Magnum and briefly fumbled with the heavy gun, trying to position her hands properly. Once she fixed her hold, the door had already covered the two figures beyond it. She stepped to the side for a better shot. The door rotated into the wall, becoming a part of it again.

"Damn," Claire muttered, approaching the wall.

_How did it survive the explosion on the second floor?_ The thing had been touching one of the oxygen tanks seconds before the explosion. She'd watched its mangled form thrown through the hallway with enough force to shatter the bricks. No way it survived without losing a limb or _something._

Shaking her head, Claire lowered herself to one knee and ran her fingers over the wall. Smooth stone. She felt along the surface in the area where Alexa had used the knife. There had to be a peculiar bump or… _found it_. Her pointer finger landed on a tiny, circular, indentation. The joint was too large to go through it, which was probably why the cult members carried knives with thin points. A hidden passageway was a nifty idea, she had to admit. It provided a way for the cult to mask their activities in case of a search. That was undoubtedly why no evidence had been discovered thus far.

Claire placed the gun on the floor, and reached down to the holster around her waist. She unbuttoned the flap holding the knife inside its sheath. Then she drew it out and held it in front of her face, observing the blade. It was a little thicker than Alexa's, but she was confident it would do the job.

Lifting the knife up to the indent, she aligned the point with it, and applied pressure. The button sunk in and clicked. Immediately the wall before her went forward as the larger portion began its rotation. Claire quickly tucked the knife away and scooped up the Magnum. A half circle under her feet began a slow turn of its own. The rest was probably on the other side, concealed by hundreds of pounds of concrete.

Once the secret room came into view Claire looked up, hovering close to the floor. Gone. Both potential threats had vanished. Four feet ahead against the far wall were the stools and the table. The heat of the small flames had almost melted the wax of several candles down to the bases. In between two tall candles, in the center of the lone table, lied a stack of papers attached to a clipboard. Writing in heavy black ink filled the majority of the top sheet. Otherwise, the room was barren. No doors or exits. _So, where did they go?_

Sighing, she stood and stepped forward, eyes scanning the dark walls and corners of the room. There had to be another hidden entrance. One that the demon was able to access relatively fast. It took her less than thirty seconds to follow them inside. He was obviously as familiar with the structure as the cult was – maybe more. They had no idea what they were dealing with. Neither did Claire, and she realized that.

A shrill, horrified scream broke the silence. It was muffled due to the walls, but loud and desperate enough to cause Claire to cringe. The scream was cut off by Alexa's voice, "No! No!"

Time was running out. Whether Alexa wanted to be saved or not, conscience wouldn't allow Claire to abandon her. _She'd slit my throat in a heartbeat if the opportunity presented itself. _Still, leaving her in the hands of that demon wasn't an option. She'd find a way out and finish what she started in the hospital. _Make him wish I'd killed him earlier. _Petting the barrel of her weapon, she walked toward the candles, figuring that there was a tunnel or something behind the table. Click-Chak.

"Uh oh."

The floor disappeared under her and Claire cursed as gravity hauled her down like a ton of bricks tied to her ankles. She spread her arms wide, groping for the sides of the floor. Her fingers merely skimmed the surface and her weight dragged her past it. She then watched the hole in the ground, and the light coming through it, grow further and further away while she plummeted into the unknown.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Seven

Chapter Twelve

Durrell walked around the corner and nearly gasped when he saw the young woman kneeling on the floor. She didn't bear any wounds or outward injuries, but was visibly worn out - kneeling with her hands on her thighs to support her upper body. Her face was hidden by the blonde and brown hair hanging in front of it. Sweat dripped through the strands, presumably from her face, into the small puddle on the tiles beneath her.

"Jennifer," Durrell stammered, stepping toward her.

The woman raised her head, flipping some of the hair from before her face. The rest clung to her cheeks and forehead, seemingly plastered onto her skin. Light brown, weary eyes returned his gaze through the remaining strands. The bottoms of the hairs were blown forward with each exhale released between her lips. She was struggling to take in air as thick as cement.

"Are you alright?" He asked upon nearing her.

She nodded, "Besides feeling like I just finished two hours… on a treadmill – I'm fine."

Smirking, he dropped to his own knees and drew her into his chest. He held on tight, yet was careful to be gentle – content to enjoy the feeling of her body against his own. After spending all that time not only away from her, but in total isolation, he desperately needed this moment.

Jennifer wanted to hug him in return and tell him how much she had missed him. How much she needed him. Her poor condition didn't allow her to, and instead she collapsed in his arms. _Better worry about breathing for now, anyway. _Although he was probably far from a 100 percent, Durrell easily adjusted to her weight and held her securely.

Time briefly stood still as he tried to clear his mind to savor the moment. The crackling of the flames and the angry voices of his captors remained fresh in his ears. His heart hadn't stopped aching since he had lied on the steps of the temple, wishing he could somehow see Jennifer once more before his death. He'd tried to slip into unconsciousness to flee the mental anguish overtaking him. The darkness beckoning to him had disguised itself as a relief. Voices prompted either by his own paranoid thoughts or by evil spirits, told him that his girlfriend was dead. That Talia had lied to him or been a figment of his imagination. An alternate version of Ahava according to his initial suspicions.

Even if she was alive, they'd whispered, she wouldn't last long alone. She'd run into the cult eventually. If she escaped them and sought refuge outside the building, the birds were waiting to finish what they had started earlier. The demon also was still lurking, somewhere. _Stop. _Durrell chastised himself, not wanting to let his fears eat away at him again. He might have stayed there on the steps and gotten crushed if he'd listened to them too long. Now they were attempting to rob him of the joy of being reunited with Jennifer.

Sighing, he refocused his attention on the present, and especially the frail form cradled in his arms. Her heartbeat, which he could feel clearly with her chest pressed against his, was beginning to slow. The thumps grew continually weaker at the same time her breathing was returning to normal. _She pushed that altar all on her on,_ Durrell realized, sadly. _Saved my life._

He knew he'd never be able to repay her for all she'd done for him that day. Jennifer had practically carried him to the hotel after the crash hours earlier. Most would have thought twice about leaving him on the road. She hadn't. And now she'd tracked him down and risked her life to free him – exhausting herself in the process. That left him with the responsibility of taking care of her until she recovered. She deserved far more, and he couldn't help but feel guilty about not being able to offer it. At the moment, at least. Leaning his head back, he placed his lips on her forehead, which was cool with sweat, and kissed her. Then he whispered a barely audible, "I've got you from here."

She tapped him on the back, which he interpreted to mean, "Let me go." When he complied, she sat back against the wall and drew her knees up into her chest. He glanced in the direction he had come from. No Claire. That gave them a little more time. Taking a deep breath, he sat next to his girlfriend and laid the gun before his feet. Jennifer glanced at the weapon, and then gave him a look.

"Claire gave it to me," He explained, holding his hands up defensively. "Just in case."

Her expression read, _Yeah, right._

"I could use it if I had to. Might shoot myself a couple times first, but still. It's the thought that counts."

Jennifer playfully rolled her eyes. "Where is she?" She didn't need to ask if Claire was okay. The detective was tougher than nails.

"She was trying to help one of the cult members. A young woman. That room's not going to last much longer and she didn't want to leave her there, or let her get away. She won't be too much longer."

Jennifer nodded.

A brief pause, and then Durrell asked, "So, that's the one you spoke to on the phone? The one who wanted to meet with us?"

"Yeah. Thank God she turned up. We would both be dead by now without her. How have you held up?"

"I'm alive, and that's enough for me. Can't wait to get out of here."

"Ditto. Once we're out, I'm never stepping foot inside a hospital again."

"We can go up to the first floor to wait for her. She mentioned a jeep parked out front. You know the way to it?"

"Yeah. It's right outside the chapel. I guess we'll worry about the birds when we get there. Maybe the guns will scare them off."

"Have you guys seen Talia?" He frowned, not wanting to leave the poor woman behind. Even if she had survived all this time on her own, it seemed the cult's aggression toward her was elevating.

"She told me how to get in there through the back entrance. Claire was going to have her hide in one of the side rooms, so I'm assuming they'll meet us up there together."

"Hope so. I want to get out of here before any more of them show up. The cult."

"According to Claire, they've snuck into just about every important job around here. The cab company, for one. So you're probably right. We don't want to be here when the fire department or the cops show up. That and God only knows if that thing is really dead."

"What thing?" Dread covered Durrell's face.

"Well," Jennifer brushed the wet hair from in front of her eyes. "I thought at first that maybe he had come here looking for us. But it turns out that the thing we met out on the road lives here. Up on the second floor. That's where he takes his victims. I saw the bodies wrapped in the sheets, and…" She blinked away tears. "And Ben was there, too."

In an instant, Durrell was up on his feet holding the gun in one trembling hand. "Where is he?"

"He might be dead. I don't know if you heard the explosion or not. Claire saved my butt earlier. She ruptured an oxygen tank right behind him and he got caught in the explosion. The force threw him from the building – right through the wall. He was covered in fire so I don't know how he could have survived, but it's possible. Could be capable of anything."

The cult was plenty to deal with, without having to worry about that creature. The mere mention of it already had Durrell's heart pounding. He nervously glanced down both hallways, once again seeing nothing out of the ordinary. They were alone, for now. Unless it was lurking somewhere nearby, waiting for an opportunity to strike. If it had survived, it was probably angry. _Hurry up, Claire._

"Let's go upstairs," Jennifer reached up for Durrell's hand.

He took it and pulled her to her feet, eyes still roaming the environment. After slipping under her arm, allowing it to rest on his shoulders, he wrapped one of his arms around her waist. Her legs had recovered a little strength. The last time she tried to stand they shook uncontrollably. Though her thighs felt wobbly, it seemed they were almost ready to support her. She leaned lightly on Durrell, putting her weight on his shoulders, and took a step forward.

"You sure you want to go up there?" Durrell asked. "I mean, what if he's…"

"Would you rather stay down here?"

"No."

….

_That hurt_. Claire came to her senses lying face first on a cold, concrete floor. The air, similarly, was cool and clammy. That was preferable to the practical inferno in the temple room. _My one little reprieve. _Yet she couldn't enjoy it due to the terrible pain in her back. She'd hit it on some type of hard surface on the way down. The collision was followed by a rough tumble down a slope which ended with her flat on her stomach, kissing the hard floor.

Groaning, she used her left arm to push over onto her right side, fighting through the pain in her lower back. Once there she saw how she had entered what appeared to be an underground tunnel. A wide sewer pipe, its top bumpy and rigid, stretched diagonally up to a large hole in the ceiling twenty feet above. Two fluorescent lights on either side of the pipe lit the room.

Claire turned her head to see a second pair of lights on the opposite wall. No other features of interest. _Except you. _Her magnum sat on the floor a few feet away, its exterior unharmed. The large weapon served as a silent reminder of her objective. Sitting here wasn't accomplishing anything. She could cry about the pain later.

Reluctantly she climbed to her feet, grabbing the gun on the way up. Finally on her feet, she lifted her arms above her head and stretched, leaning backward. The movement slightly soothed her pain and she held the position, eyes ahead on a doorway. It led into a maintenance tunnel, lit the same way as this room. She glanced behind her to see nothing significant.

Finishing her stretch, Claire entered the tunnel and immediately spotted a notice posted on the wall to the left. The tunnel went on for thirty yards with three or four doors preceding the exit across from the detective. The nearest was ten feet away. Sufficient space for her to check out the note and have plenty of time to thwart an ambush. Keeping her body facing the path ahead – she read.

2/18/90

Michelle Brandon,

Let me start by saying you are performing much better than we expected. The task we've given you is a heavy burden to bear. The priest would not have chosen you if he did not know you were capable. I start with praises so you do not take our suggestions the wrong way. We merely wanted to advise you on your selections for the sake of discretion. The recent questions and concerns many have about the hospital are troubling. Some are speaking of an investigation.

It has long been a part of our customs to sacrifice only those who are without blemish. In our texts, however, we have learned that those blemishes refer to the physical – not the mental. There are cases where the two are connected, so keep that in mind.

Our nurse has said the patients you should target are those with average to above average physical conditioning, who are suffering from diseases of the mind. Examples would be dementia, depression which manifests to the degree that they are admitted into the hospital, schizophrenia, and similar ailments. Without making it obvious, target those who would be placed in the Crisis Ward. Many children there are fit, healthy, and would provide what our master needs. Remember, the stronger your selections are, the stronger he becomes.

When these types of patients vanish, it is easily explained by their mental conditions. Depressed patients spend their time doing nothing else but attempting to escape, so that they can kill themselves. Those with dementia or schizophrenia can easily have "episodes" and force their way out. I personally propose that you and the others stage such incidents to trick both the staff and other patients. This ought to change the sheriff's mind about launching any sort of an investigation. It will also ease the minds of others, and make our tasks much easier.

Thank you, ahead of time, for your compliance.

Michael Carmody

Mulling the contents of the memo, she removed the pin holding it in place, folded the paper twice, and tucked it into a pocket. The names and date were likely to come in handy. Anyone could type a letter so linking actual people to the crimes was necessary. Claire allowed herself a grin, and continued her walk through the tunnel.

She'd found the piece missing in the puzzle all along. It seemed the cult had covered their tracks well – using an underground compartment to carry out their evil deeds. They were proving themselves to be smarter than she'd thought. Except for them putting any trust in that demon. _Be nice if they applied themselves to something meaningful._

She passed a door on her left, paying it no mind. Seconds later, the first on the right caught her attention and she reached for the handle. Unlocked. Why would it be locked, anyway? Once the hospital closed, the underground section had apparently become obsolete. Now they were free to practice their evil deeds in the open without fear.

Claire turned the knob and shoved the door open. It moved reluctantly, its rusty, rarely used hinges creaking the entire way. She peered into the dark room, hoping her eyes would adjust quickly. Her senses told her there was a vast, empty space waiting across the threshold. Shortly afterward her eyes confirmed it. Thirty feet deep, the light pouring in over her shoulders reflected off of horizontally placed steel bars. Roughly eight inches separated them. A little wider than she expected, although no normal human would have a chance of escaping. Behind the bars, the room was divided, forming small cells.

Pulling the door shut, she moved onward. How horrifying to go to a hospital, expecting to be healed, only to be brought down here to await a gruesome death. Locked in a cage like a rabid animal. A part of Claire figured Alexa deserved whatever happened to her. The entire cult did. It was mere justice that they meet untimely demises at the hands of something scarier than themselves. However, her duties remained. Protect and serve. Occasionally, that referred to criminals also.

Upon nearing the door at the end of the hall, she noticed that it was cracked open. Raising her weapon, she pressed her shoulder against the wood, moving it aside. Stepping past it brought her into a little alcove, ten feet in length. At the end it branched off into narrow passageways going left and right. A rushing sound overhead briefly distracted her, and she paused to listen. It sounded like a machine running in the distance or maybe a sink. She figured it was rain. Hopefully it would chase the birds away. _Yeah, right._

Taking a deep breath, Claire advanced, staying in the middle of the floor. She wanted to be able to dodge to either side in case he was right around a corner. In preparation, she bent her knees slightly, keeping the rest of her body loose. Ready.

As she inched closer, she caught a glimpse of dark clothing in the path to the left. It lingered for a second and then slipped beyond her vision. Gasping, she stepped to the right side, putting her back on the wall. None of the cultists wore black or any real clothes for that matter—except the priest. It had to be one of them, but what were they doing? Hadn't he heard her already? _Doesn't matter, I can end this right now._

Claire sprung into the intersection, gun propped up in both hands. The demon stood five feet away with his back to her, hovering over an unconscious Alexa. Immediately, she fired.

BOOM! The powerful bullet punched right through the coat and the beast's torso. She heard it slam into the wall thirty yards in front of him, hitting in between the rungs of a ladder there. _Wow. _Earlier the magnum rounds had penetrated his skin, yet failed to go through his flesh. She'd found a soft spot, perhaps.

Oddly, the demon didn't move or respond. Instead he proudly stood his ground, ignoring her and her assault. She started to shoot again when she realized something was wrong. Somehow, she had a clear picture of the hallway ahead of him through the bullet hole. Blood or gore should have been obstructing her view. It was absent. He was also a lot shorter than he had been when she confronted him upstairs. Lowering her eyes, she saw the bottom of a coat rack on the floor under his coat. Not feet. Alexa was beginning to stir, probably woken by the gunshot.

The door Claire had entered the hall through burst open. Two men and one woman, Alexa's dark haired companion, emerged wielding their battle axes. They all sneered at the detective, except the woman who stared behind her. Her eyes widened and she reeled backward into the door. The identical expressions masking the men's faces betrayed that they saw it, too. She didn't like the dread in their eyes, especially because she knew she wasn't the cause.

Spinning on her heels, aware of the presence before seeing it, she brought the Magnum 460 between herself and the tall ominous figure. The demon had been glaring spitefully at the men. He noticed the movement and snapped his head around to face Claire. His hand immediately reached for the gun as she pulled the trigger. BOOM! His interference misdirected her aim and instead of his left eye, the bullet pounded into his head right above it. The force dislodged a tiny part of his forehead and he roared, staggering back. The enraged howl echoing throughout the area.

The largest of the two cult members charged, lifting his axe high in the air. "Jared, no!" The girl called.

Due to the dangerous reach his long arms gave him, Claire didn't have time to redirect her aim. She rolled backward over her shoulder and landed on one knee, magnum in position. The threat hadn't fazed him and he continued toward her until two black hands appeared underneath his arms. They grabbed his bare chest - sharp talons digging deep into the flesh between the pectoral muscles. Screaming, the man looked down, almost paralyzed with fear and pain. He regretted it when he saw the first joints of the demon's fingers buried under his skin. Then he felt the claws burning inside his flesh.

Jared was lifted up and held a foot and a half above the floor, feet dangling. His eyes found Claire's, filled with the misery and confusion that had gripped him. He was obviously wondering why his "god" had attacked him. _Sad. _Without warning, the demon spread his arms wide, pulling his hands out to each side, ripping through flesh and muscles. The flesh stayed in the grip of the demon, stretched like bloody, mangled ribbons. Crying out in anguish, Jared sunk to his knees and fell on his side, staring at his shredded torso.

The bravado quickly deserted Claire, as did her desire for revenge. She hadn't witnessed or truly known the extent of his power, his evil. Now he stood watching her with piercing yellow eyes. Gore surrounded his fingertips while thick blood dripped onto the floor from his talons. Her hands were trembling and her heart had melted.

The demon closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and slowly breathed in the air through his nostrils. _What are you doing? _Upon completing the first inhale, he dropped his chin near his chest, and took a second, deeper whiff, raising his head again. He seemed to be savoring the odor, although Claire certainly didn't smell anything pleasant. His eyes opened abruptly and he bared his fangs, gawking hungrily at the detective. He stepped forward.

Claire fired. Missed by a mile. Her hands were too unsteady despite the close range.

She turned and ran, passing the hoax he had set up and Alexa. _Need distance, time. _She had to create separation and regroup – calm herself down. He had sensed her fear, it seemed, and enjoyed it. Claire sped out of the hallway and into the larger room beyond it. She glanced back to see that the demon had disappeared, leaving Jared's hideous remains on the floor. Alexa also remained, still moving.

Frowning, Claire turned to the ladder and began scaling it. She kept the cumbersome magnum in her left hand, preferring the discomfort to the idea of leaving herself wide open. Though she hadn't a clue where it led to, anywhere was better than here.

Crouching in the darkest shadows of the room, Kharash followed Claire's form with his eyes, watching her every movement as she ascended the ladder. Her tempting odor continued to sift in and out of his nostrils, prompting his mouth to water. She had something he wanted, just like the other two. Patience. Let her go for now.

Unknowingly, the woman would lead him to her companions so he could take them all at the same time. He'd played around with them long enough, and they'd come to be an annoyance. If he didn't know their odors would haunt him forever, he'd consider letting them go.

A sharp pain above his left eye brought a quiet growl from deep within him. He clenched his teeth to muzzle the sound, controlling himself with the torture he planned to inflict upon Claire. That foolish woman dared to attempt to get him back for her father's weakness. Many had tried throughout the years, and most of them ended up being displayed as trophies in the places he stayed. She'd be no different.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Seven

Chapter Thirteen

Durrell and Jennifer stood, palms against the glass doors of the hospital's main entrance. Their faces were an inch from the glass, both peering up into the sky. Through the distorted picture painted by heavy rainfall, they could still see the black mass circling overhead. Dark, menacing clouds had been obstructed with darker shapes. Every few seconds, one or two crows would detach from the group, fly low near the street, and quickly ascend. Durrell thought he saw their beady eyes glance in his direction each time. As if they were checking to make sure the couple hadn't moved. _Don't worry you black bastards, we're not going anywhere._

The detective's jeep sat unharmed in the middle of the road. Rain had completely covered the windows, and the constant downpour made it impossible to see inside. Heavy drops splattered on the glass doors before Durrell and Jennifer's eyes, threatening to fully obstruct their view. That would conceal their final hope to escape Shady Dawn alive. Once Claire arrived they'd all run for the jeep. If the birds didn't kill them first, then their chances of surviving were good.

"She should have come already," Jennifer said.

Of course, the hospital's clocks weren't working and neither Durrell nor Jennifer had a watch. There was no official way to tell time, or judge how much had passed. The stormy sky lent no clues, either. It was probably close to or a little after noon. Due to the rain and the clouds dispensing it, it looked more like the early evening. A dismal, dreary setting.

Peeking over his shoulder revealed an empty foyer and no signs of anyone approaching. Even without a clock he knew Jennifer was right. He chose not to respond, unwilling to consider why Claire was late. Most of his guesses weren't pleasant.

"Durrell?" Jennifer wanted to talk to at least interrupt the uncomfortable silence. She'd rather hear his voice than be left alone to her own disturbing ideas. "What do you think­-"

Movement near the jeep caught both of their eyes. Simultaneously, they heard a loud dragging noise. Five feet behind the rear left tire, an odd spot in the asphalt lifted several inches above the street. It was a circular shape that had managed to blend in with the street until now. _What the… _Durrell soon realized it was a manhole cover being misplaced. He held his breath.

The lid was shoved aside and seconds later, a redheaded woman's head and shoulders emerged. Jennifer ripped open the door and raced toward the street. As she practically flew down the steps, Durrell cautiously followed her at a distance. His eyes were on the birds in the sky, who didn't seem to notice yet. Claire's face immediately told them that something was wrong. She reached up to accept Jennifer's hand, then Durrell's, and allowed the duo to haul her up onto the street.

"Claire, I was worried you had been hurt," Jennifer spoke loud to be heard over the rain, which had already drenched her.

"We're not out of the woods, yet," Claire climbed to her feet and ushered them toward the jeep. "We need to go right now!"

"What is it?" Jennifer asked, jogging ahead

"It's not dead," Claire removed the magnum from her holster. "Think you could drive a jeep, kid?"

Jennifer shrugged.

"I hope you can. I need to keep my hands free."

"Hold it!" A familiar, deep voice called.

The trio paused and turned to see a tall man standing on the other side of the manhole. His black and gray hair was ruffled and caked with mud dust. Dried blood ran down his cheek, coming out of a gash above his right eye. _It's the cab driver, _Durrell recognized him, _Brad. _What concerned him was the gun in his hand. He had it trained on Claire who stood between the young adults. She tightened her grip on the magnum.

"Don't," Brad's finger tensed. "Move and I'll shoot all three of you. What are you doing out here? And what happened to the hospital?"

"That's not our concern, we were just leaving," Claire replied.

"He's the nut who dropped us off," Jennifer whispered.

"It's your concern now," Brad said. "Someone caused an explosion in there that blew something on top of my cab… trashed it, and damn near killed me. Because of that I'm not in the mood for b.s. I want some answers…"

The ground under his feet shattered into pieces, sending bits of asphalt scattering. The impact shook the street, causing Claire, Jennifer, and Durrell to stagger back. Brad began falling when a large figure shot up through the hole like a rocket—wrapping its arms around Brad's torso and snatching him off his feet. In two seconds they were twenty feet in the air where gravity slowed them down. A pair of massive bat-like wings unfurled behind them, the tips of each reaching the buildings on both sides nearly twenty-five feet apart. The wings rose and flapped, thrusting the two up to the height of the hospital. The now disturbed gathering of crows immediately dispersed.

"Move it!" Jennifer urged. She and Claire climbed into the jeep, Jennifer behind the wheel and Claire on the other side. She slipped in the back, allowing Durrell to take the passenger's seat. All of them looked to the sky to see what was happening.

Brad and the demon remained suspended in midair, the monster's wings flapping methodically to keep them up. Brad was kicking and punching, trying desperately to free himself. The demon, unaffected, spun him around so they were face to face, holding him by the shoulders. It leaned close and the man started screaming, flailing his arms wildly. A sickening "crunch" cut off his cries. Blood briefly mixed with rain and then Brad's lifeless body plummeted toward the street.

Durrell slammed the jeep door shut and watched out the rearview mirror. The demon stared back before flying off, disappearing over a roof.

Jennifer started the engine and accelerated, propelling the jeep forward. As it was gaining speed she switched on the windshield wipers to make things easier. She'd never driven a jeep before, but after seeing how easily the demon handled Brad, she'd figure it out. If any positives could be attributed to her gang ties, it was that she'd learned to think on her feet.

"Where are we going?" She asked, eyes roaming the skies.

"Focus on the road," Claire replied, loading two bullets into the magnum. She too was scanning the tops of the buildings, expecting the monstrous form to reappear any second. _Focus. _Dropping her eyes to the road ahead, she tried to formulate a plan. "Okay… okay… turn right!"

They were ten feet from the corner and Jennifer's speed was just past 35 miles per hour. She relieved some pressure off of the gas pedal and wrenched the wheel to the right. The vehicle followed suit as the tires screeched on the asphalt. Both Durrell and Claire had to use their hands on the nearest surfaces to avoid being thrown. Jennifer clutched the wheel as the jeep went into a brief skid, plowing down a mailbox before regaining control. She pulled into the street's center and carefully sped up.

"Man," Durrell muttered, putting his seatbelt on.

Jennifer glanced at him, and followed his example.

"There's a police department about four miles from here," Claire said. "Response isn't always the quickest…"

"What are you going to tell them?"

"Not the truth. They can see that for themselves when they arrive."

"Do you…" Jennifer nervously peeked at the dark clouds lingering in the expanse above. "Do you think they'll reach us in time?"

Claire's expression wasn't promising. "We can put up a fight to give them a little extra time. Don't worry."

She dug her cell phone out of a miniature equipment bag on the floor. As she dialed the number for the local police department, she looked through the jeep's plastic rear window. Shaking her head, she said, "Durrell, I can't see a thing through this. Can you be my eyes for a moment?"

"Sure," he nodded.

Rolling his window down, Durrell stuck his head through the space and peered into the sky. Instantly his face and shoulders were assaulted with spattering raindrops. He squinted to keep the water out of his eyes and held his gaze. For a moment he didn't see anything significant. Several crows were circling directly above the jeep. Somehow they managed to avoid falling behind without appearing to advance.

"Yes, we're being chased by someone and we need help," Claire spoke into the phone, the panic in her voice startling Durrell and Jennifer. She was letting her real fear come to the surface so the person on the other line didn't assume it was a hoax. "Jennifer Arturo. Listen, we're driving a red jeep and we're going to be on Cove Road in a few minutes. Please send someone out here, ma'am."

Durrell held his hand, palm down, above his eyes to block the rain. He'd seen something a minute ago that he didn't like, but wanted to be sure before he alarmed the women. Suddenly, a black shape seemingly detached from the clouds, dropping out of the sky. It was plunging straight toward the street, gaining speed with every second. Though it was too far away for him to identify, he knew it wasn't anything good.

When the figure reached the tops of the surrounding buildings, two giant wings unfolded behind its back, expanding twelve feet to either side. The wind caught in the leathery fabric and slowed the being's momentum. "Claire," Durrell's voice was barely a whisper. The wings flapped powerfully, down and backwards, launching it forward – straight at the vehicle. Durrell began rolling the window up and said it louder this time, "Claire!"

She turned, tossing the phone aside. Heavy rain couldn't hide the demon's unmistakable form forty yards to the rear. His arms were at his sides and his legs concealed by his shoulders and torso. He had the appearance of a miniature rocket, speeding after the jeep. One giant thrust of his wings brought him within thirty five yards. A second left less than thirty between them.

Claire shook her head, trying to snap herself back into the present. She'd come here tonight to protect the two kids and, in the process, destroy their pursuer. For a few minutes, she'd lost her courage. Getting far away from him was all she wanted to do. Now, her senses were returning. She was as terrified as she'd ever been, but that didn't matter. _Dad always said courage isn't the absence of fear, but being able to act in the face of it. _Taking a deep breath, she dropped her gun on the floor and felt along the plastic back window. The zipper was somewhere… _not the time to be conservative, idiot._

Groaning, the detective retrieved her knife, and stabbed through the fabric at the top of the window. She cut a narrow path downward until she reached the bottom of the frame. Then she tucked the knife in its place and retrieved the Magnum. Looking up, Claire saw that the demon was less than fifteen yards away. Close enough for her to see the scowl on his face. He'd spotted the gun. She lifted it up to try to take aim as quickly as she could manage.

The demon tilted his body to the left and swerved from her point of view with a mighty thrust of his wings. Claire retracted the weapon, holding it closer to her body. "Look out up there, guys—I just lost him."

"What? How close was he?" Jennifer yelled.

"Too close."

Something landed heavily on top of the jeep, somewhere above Claire's head. All eyes went to the ceiling and she aimed the magnum, waiting to hear more movement before she damaged her own vehicle any further. That had to be him but shooting would alert him. Right now she had an easy shot if she waited to figure out his exact location. The roof creaked. She prepared to fire.

Jennifer sharply turned the wheel, bringing the jeep to the right side of the road. Claire nearly lost her balance and started to complain when a dark fist punched through the ceiling. She cried out and fired instinctively. The bullet effortlessly pierced the sturdy plastic and hit its intended target. A loud, unearthly howl confirmed her success. She pulled the trigger again and a second, louder scream followed. The hand forcefully withdrew from the hole it had created, allowing large raindrops to pour in through the opening.

Immediately the demon recovered and punched another hole in the roof. His fingers spread briefly and closed around the magnum's barrel. Claire fired involuntarily while pulling to free her gun from his grip. He growled in frustration, yet refused to let go. Instead he repositioned the muzzle and tugged on it, yanking her along up to the opening.

"Claire!" Jennifer called, seeing her smash into the ceiling.

She returned her attention to the road, searching for something, anything to help. Her eyes found an old movie theater on the left. A protruding wooden compartment of the building, boasting the titles of ancient films, overshadowed the sidewalk. She estimated about two feet of space from its bottom and the top of the jeep. _Worth a shot. _She pulled to the left side of the street as they approached, hoping it wasn't lower than it looked.

Meanwhile, Durrell too had his hands on the gun. He and Claire were using their body weight to keep it inside the vehicle. They were fighting with all they had, but the demon's single arm was prevailing. He tugged the magnum and brought the muzzle through the hole.

"Get the gun I gave you earlier," Claire urged, teeth clenched.

"If I let go—"

"We have to risk it."

"No, you don't," Jennifer moved the jeep up onto the sidewalk and drove toward the movie theater's sign.

KRASH! The impact sounded like an explosion. Claire and Durrell, neither of them prepared for it, ducked and covered their heads. Jennifer watched big shards of wood rain down as she pulled onto the road. She glanced in the rearview mirror and spotted the demon lying amid the wooden remains. Had that been enough? He'd survived several rounds from the magnum and a gigantic explosion, only to be felled by a head on collision with a wooden structure? Not likely. Eager, but skeptical, Jennifer watched the wreckage while speeding away.

"Shoot!" Claire rose, searching the floor. "I lost my gun! Durrell is it up there?"

As he checked the front of the jeep, Jennifer's breath caught in her throat. Though the movie theater was three or four city blocks behind, she saw movement. The demon rose, shoving aside chunks of wood, and immediately started after them. He was dazed and staggered initially but it wouldn't last long, she knew. Jennifer applied extra pressure on the gas pedal. The demon had recovered and now charged at full speed. He was a little less than a football field behind and wasn't letting up.

Suddenly, he leapt into the sky, disappearing from her view. She looked back herself and found him. His wings were spread again as he hovered, momentarily, between heaven and earth. The demon's form and intimidating wings appeared more surreal due to the backdrop of rain and clouds. Then with two thrusts, his wings propelled him toward the jeep. He spread them far and soared like a giant eagle.

"Give me the gun," Claire held out her hand to Durrell. "The pistol. I doubt it'll do much but it's the best I have." She could target his eyes and other soft spots in case he came too close. She hoped to God he wouldn't.

"Damn it, Claire!" Jennifer pounded the wheel in frustration. "Why doesn't this piece of junk move any faster?" 80 miles per hour and climbing wasn't particularly slow, but today it seemed to be.

The demon was quickly closing the gap, continuing his dive after the jeep. He sailed through time and space, neither element hindering his approach. Jennifer also noticed the dead end nearing. Five blocks ahead, the entrance to an extensive graveyard loomed ominously. A giant steel gate was bordered by fencing on both sides. The thick silver bars resembled those in a prison. Each stood at eight feet in height, three shorter than the door. On level with the top of the fence, in the gate's center, a sign declared, "SHADY DAWN RESTING HOME." Four black birds perched atop the gate, undisturbed by the scene speeding toward them.

The street offered her three routes. Straight ahead she would crash through the cemetery's protective bars, probably killing all of them in the process. A thick steel chain held the gate in place. Breaking through that alone could be fatal. Her other options were to turn left or right on the road horizontal to the cemetery.

"Which way?" Jennifer glanced over her shoulder. The demon had vanished, which meant he could be anywhere.

"Left, but you'll need to slow down. Otherwise you'll crash right through that fence. It'll kill us on—"

The passenger's window shattered as a large fist shot into it. Durrell and Jennifer screamed. He lifted his arms to shield his face from the glass, just as a clawed black hand reached inside. The demon flew beside the jeep just above the window frame with one wing stretched out in plain view. Instinctively, Durrell jerked back to avoid its grasp. He hit Jennifer, who was too occupied staring at the beast to care.

Despite his attempt to escape, the demon's talons cut through his shirt and skin. He screamed, because of the act more than the pain it caused. Securing his grip, the demon pulled hard, wanting to yank his intended victim through the window.

Durrell, however, had placed his feet on the door in a desperate attempt to counter the demon's power. Claire had also abandoned the pistol and seized the young man's right arm, hooking it in the crook of her forearms. Her feet were planted on the floor for leverage. Jennifer, likewise, threw her arm over his head and held him, pressing her forearm into his chest. Their combined strength surprised their adversary. Still, he nearly brought Durrell through the frame, dragging the women along. They held tight. Durrell was left lying across his seat, knees bent up near his chest.

Peeking inside, the demon saw what had hindered him. Grinning, he mockingly showed his teeth to Durrell, who screamed hysterically. He knew that one more tug would mean death. The first pull, the beast's eyes told him, wasn't close to his full strength.

Claire was about to reach for the gun when a new threat emerged before the cemetery, thirty feet away. An enormous commuter's bus drove into view from the left, heading straight across their path. "Jennifer look out!"

They were moving way too fast to evade the collision. The right maneuver might leave them severely injured, but spare their lives. Jennifer stomped on the gas pedal and wrenched the wheel to the left. In its attempt to keep up with her commands, the jeep turned sideways and went into a high speed skid. It continued toward the bigger vehicle and rose on the wheels of the passenger's side, preparing to topple over.

The bus driver realized what was happening only seconds before impact. He knew slowing down wouldn't help so he too rolled his steering wheel left. WHAM! The impact was fierce. A quiet street was disrupted by the sounds of shattering glass, tires on asphalt, and steel and plastic meeting violently. Both vehicles shot into the resting home's gate, the jeep lodged in the side of the bus. They broke right through, snapping the chain reinforcements like a string. The gate and a section of the fence were plowed down and smashed.

Claire's jeep came loose from the bus with force. It did a 180 degree rotation on its wheels and then flipped onto its nose. The velocity carried the vehicle onto its side where it overturned again. Finally it landed upside down and remained there. The bus, by then, had fallen onto its side and rolled to the other. It rose, and stayed suspended momentarily, momentum struggling against gravity and weight to drag it up on its wheels. Gravity won and the vehicle crashed back on its side, sending more dust into the cloud that had drifted up and covered cemetery's entrance.

The heavy rain persisted, instantly dispersing some of the smoke. For a moment, all was still. The commotion and its echo faded, leaving only the noise from the shower.

A throbbing headache greeted Durrell as he returned to consciousness. He lied on his side across the roof with his legs and hips elevated, held up by something. His entire body ached but his head felt the worst. He was also mindful of a sharp pain in his chest. It hurt to breathe because every deep inhale dragged his shirt along the wounds left by the demon's claws. He clenched his teeth, trying to blot out the pain. _Not working._

Sighing inwardly, Durrell opened his eyes. He was staring through the broken windshield of Claire's jeep. Gray tombstones of all sizes were set up nearby in random places. A granite-carved angel watched him from their midst, twenty yards into the cemetery. The usual eeriness associated with graveyards was exacerbated in the pouring rain. The dark clouds created a disquieting background to complete the grim scene. Looking to his left, he breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing Jennifer lying across the van's ceiling. The smeared blood on her forehead concerned him but her stomach was rising rapidly up and down in sharp breaths.

Durrell tried to turn to find Claire but he was trapped by his seat belt. The crash had pinned the buckle between the seat and the middle compartment. _At least, _he thought, _I didn't get hurt. _An odd sound, similar to a human's grunting, became audible above the rain. Groaning, he raised his eyes to peer out the empty window space beside him.

There was the bus, lying on its side with the underside facing the jeep. What caught Durrell's attention was the demon's body, trapped under the massive vehicle. Its legs were covered, and it was attempting to drag itself free. _Doesn't he ever die? _He watched the creature, letting his hatred for it build. He'd never hated anything prior to today, not even his enemies. The relentless pursuit by the devil now lying thirty feet off, had embittered him. Regardless of the several tons pinning it to the ground—it still seemed intent on their deaths.

_You hate what you fear. _He'd heard that somewhere and thought it made sense. The demon terrified him as much as its evil intentions angered him. What could be done to stop something that refused to die? And in this instance, a force that had him next on its list. He wondered if what Jennifer had said earlier was true. That it ate people. _Wait, that's what Ahava was talking about._ She mentioned the followers of Kharash being made to eat themselves all throughout eternity. It was punishment for devouring the flesh of other humans during their lives. If they were cannibals, it was presumable that they learned from their "master."

The instant Durrell's heart began pounding, the demon paused. _Ah, no. _It slowly turned its head in the jeep's direction until its eyes met Durrell's. A cold, unpleasant shock reverberated through his body. He froze. Then the demon sat up, braced his palms on the bottom of the bus, and pushed. He was growling now, fueled by hunger, pain, and impatience. Seeing the young man had obviously reinvigorated him. He gradually managed to inch himself back.

Durrell hurried to grab the seatbelt restraining him. He first pulled on the strap, hoping it had been damaged during the chaos. No such luck. It resisted him firmly. The buckle wasn't just stuck, it was completely crushed. _Don't panic, _he warned, searching for something to use to cut the strap. His gaze briefly returned to the demon just as it freed itself from the bus. It rolled onto its side and immediately glared at him. Its legs were gone—everything below the upper thighs torn off, presumably left under the giant vehicle.

Panic gripped Durrell, threatening to send him into a fit. Somehow his fear restricted his airway, making it difficult to catch his breath. He fought to shout, "Somebody help me!"

The demon rolled onto his stomach and reached one hand forward. Its claws dug into the muddy ground and hauled the rest of its body along. Before it cleared the space its other arm was already in motion, extending toward Durrell, grabbing the dirt, and pulling. The strength of the beast allowed it to advance rather quickly. His eyes were locked on his prey and his mouth was open in anticipation. Fifteen feet away.

"Help!" Durrell jerked the strap back and forth, desperately. It seemed to constrict more, further restricting his movement.

Ten feet. Eight.

"Oh God, help me!" Durrell cried in angst, closing his eyes. "Please help me… I…"

He opened his eyes. Blinked. The clearing between the jeep and the bus was empty. Rain continued to pound the grass and mud. _Where did he go? _He blinked twice more, unable to believe his eyes. Had God answered him that abruptly? It had appeared earlier, out of thin air and now departed in the same manner. He was reluctant to believe his eyes, no matter how badly he wanted to. Searching the area, he turned to the windshield and screamed.

The demon was there on its stomach, hands outstretched. Durrell tried to pull away and sink back into the seat to no avail. It grabbed a handful of his shirt in one hand, and his wrist in the other. Then it pulled, its strength snapping the the seat belt easily. Durrell was helplessly dragged closer to its head where a gaping mouth, filled with long razor sharp teeth, awaited him.

Growling in confusion, the demon's head snapped around to look behind it. Four crows were perched on his back, pecking and biting into his skin. He released Durrell's wrist and swatted them away. The birds were thrown aside only to be instantly replaced by seven more. Irritated, and confused, Kharash released his victim and pushed back a few feet on his arms. He turned his attention to his attackers as dozens of them flew down to join in on the frenzy.

Durrell, free of the seatbelt, slumped onto the jeep's roof and watched in bewilderment.

The demon batted the second bunch of crows, knocking half of them aside. They recovered in the blink of an eye and continued their onslaught. This time, a countless number descended from the sky, dropping on or around their target. Their beaks sought and tore into flesh wherever they could find it. Kharash was soon completely covered by them so that only his outline remained visible, yet distorted by the black mass clinging to him. He continued to fight, but they were too numerous to scare off.

A withered hand punched through the wall of birds, clutching two of them in its fist. One crow freed its head and ferociously jabbed at the flesh between his thumb and index finger, using its pointed beak. His grip tightened, crushing their bodies together. Then he dropped the bloody clump of feathers, blood, and protruding bones to the ground. Eight birds appeared to go after his exposed arm and hand.

Jennifer groggily lifted her hands and rubbed her face, moaning. Durrell, too disturbed to turn to her, put his arm around her shoulders and held her in place. She mumbled something unintelligible, and opened her eyes, glancing at him and then following his gaze.

The struggle had ended. The birds had now enclosed their prey in a ferocious whirlwind. There had to be almost a hundred of them, flying in a circle, pecking, and attacking all at the same time. Two dozen of the crows jumped up and flew off, many of them carrying bits of mangled black flesh in their mouths. Briefly, the demon's body was exposed, displaying wounds, scars, and missing skin. His head was turned in the jeep's direction, eyes glued to Durrell, burning with hatred. Then he was lost in the shuffle again.

"What the hell are they doing?" Jennifer pondered aloud.

"I don't know…"

Sirens sounded far in the distance. They were a mixture of the typical police siren, an ambulance's siren, and the wailing, mournful call of a fire truck. Maybe a couple. The noises were muffled by the rainfall but definitely there. Whether the birds killed the monster or not, Durrell realized, help was on its way. Despite everything that had happened, it seemed the couple would survive after all.

Momentarily, the demon's head came into view. The malice had melted away from the yellow irises, leaving his eyes dull and lifeless. Still they remained focused on the jeep until a huge crow landed on his head. In one swift motion it plucked the eyeball from its socket. The remaining eye didn't budge, nor did what was left of the body. Stretching its wings, the bird proudly displayed its trophy—an orb dangling from the stringy material clasped in its beak. Then it took off, flying out of sight. Several of its smaller companions followed its lead and fled with their spoil.

The demon was a half consumed carcass now, like something long dead and rotting. He was gone, and the birds weren't finished yet. Jennifer had seen enough. If he was somehow still alive, he wasn't a danger to them. She looked over her shoulder to the back of the jeep. It was empty. _Oh, no…_ She rolled onto her side and sat up, a sick feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. Had she been thrown from the vehicle during the crash?

"Claire?" Jennifer yelled, tears in her eyes.

"Quiet, kid," Claire stooped down outside the driver's window.

"Claire," Jennifer smiled, reaching out with one hand.

"I have to go," Claire gestured toward the sirens in the background, then took Jennifer's hand in her own. The vehicles were close enough so the engines could be heard as well. Another minute or two and they'd be in sight. "Told you earlier I was suspended. You guys will be okay."

"Thank you," Durrell said, grateful to the woman who had risked her life to save theirs. "If not for you, we wouldn't have made it out of there."

Claire saluted him and began to stand up to leave. Jennifer refused to release her hand. The detective gave her a curious look, and then a knowing one. She grinned and said, "I'll be in touch, Jennifer."

"You better," Jennifer squeezed her hand before releasing her.

Sighing, Claire turned and jogged toward the graveyard's entrance, watching the road. She managed a quick pace in spite of the obvious pain she was in. Without looking, she yelled, "Feel free to exit my jeep at your leisure." Then she disappeared beyond the street. Seconds later the first police car raced into view, approaching from the road the bus had come down. A bevy of additional units and emergency vehicles tailed it.

When Durrell and Jennifer exited the jeep, they sat on the soggy ground. The spot where the attack had occurred was empty, so they looked to the sky. Thirty crows, moving faster than normal, were carrying what appeared to be the demon's skeletal structure. Some held onto it with their feet, and others supported it on their backs. In an instant, they vanished into the pouring rain and clouds overhead—removing what was left of the Eerie County Devil.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Seven

Chapter Fourteen

The young couple stood on the sidewalk, hand in hand, staring up at the two story brick house across the lawn. Bright rays from the afternoon sun beat down on them from over the rooftop. They were too captivated by the scenery to be bothered with the heat for the time being. Knee high green grass and tall daisies covered the plot of land all around the structure. A narrow walkway, partly overgrown with greenery, led to concrete front steps. Beyond them was the wooden front door to the house. Their future abode. Not a bad one for kids their age just starting out.

"Let's walk around it," Jennifer squeezed his hand and nodded toward the right side of the house. "I want to see the rest of it. And the yard."

Nodding his ascent, Durrell allowed himself to be pulled along by his eager fiancé. They observed the front and side of the house as they walked, peeking into the first floor windows. The inside wasn't finished yet. There were a few details to be ironed out before that took place. The furnishers promised the interior would look brand new by the wedding date. It appeared their word was going to be kept, since the big day was three weeks away.

The house itself wasn't new. An old couple had owned it previously. When they died the city made plans to turn it into a church. After deciding it was too small, the people involved decided a new building would be better. They began construction on the next block over, and had finished three months ago in February. That left the old couple's place in a practical limbo. Until Durrell's grandmother pointed it out while driving by, saying it could make a beautiful home with some work. Jennifer had been skeptical, but the older woman proved to be right.

"Is all of this property going to be ours, too?" Jennifer asked, pointing over the vast field behind the house. It ended at a forest roughly forty yards in the distance. Her mind immediately began to conjure up images of the things they could use the space for.

"Yep," Durrell grinned, proudly folding his arms across his chest. "The forest, too."

Jennifer laughed, holding onto his arm with her free hand. She turned to the house and looked over the porch with her lips parted, and eyes glowing. "This is awesome. I can't believe they were giving it away for that low of a price."

Sighing, Durrell paused to take it all in, keeping Jennifer in place as well. She wrapped her arms around his waist and continued to stare at the porch. It was bordered by a partially painted three foot high fence. Tall enough to prohibit small children from scaling it and getting hurt. Yet easily climbable for adults. Inside was a fifteen by fifteen foot square area, elevated two feet above the ground. In the center of the floor, a hanging couch had already been brought in, supported by three sturdy chains in the ceiling. At the back of the porch a door led to the main part of the house. Once the paint job was completed and some additional furniture purchased, it would be perfect.

"Want to sit in there?" Durrell saw her gawking at the seat.

"Come on," She jumped onto the porch and hopped the fence. Meanwhile, Durrell walked around to the right side and used the stairs. She made a face, "Since when have you become an old man?"

"Since I met you," He replied.

Jennifer waited until he was beside her so they could sit down together, his arm around her shoulders.

"I never would've known that doing the right thing could pay off like this," Jennifer said, after a moment. "Grew up thinking you had to be tough to survive, fend for yourself, and all that stuff."

"Well it doesn't always pay off—not in this world, anyway," He ran his hand through her hair, speaking softly. "But that's one reason it's important to do it, and not lose hope. That way even if things don't turn out for the better, at least you didn't compromise your morals. Sometimes, though, you are blessed when you stay the course even after a dumb mistake. I guess that was one lesson I had to learn. Doing wrong to bring about good…"

"Never really pays, anyway," She finished, nodding. "Well, I'm glad after we learned the hard way that we still had a chance. We were fortunate. Very. Not only to get such a great house for practically nothing…"

"It wasn't _nothing_…"

"Compared to most decent homes these days it was. But the best part is that you had a job waiting for you right across the street. How's that going?"

"Good," Durrell smiled. "Now that they have more than thirty kids attending nominally, their budget made room for me to get a raise. It's supposed to come in next month. With the amount I'll be making I can spend less time at the store. And, our honeymoon might be a little longer than planned. We'll have to pray about it, though. It's not a sure thing yet."

One day when he visited the property to evaluate it alone, a minister was walking by on his way to the church. He stopped to talk to Durrell and two hours later, offered him a chance to interview for a job. The youth pastor the congregation had prior to relocating had moved several states away. Two weeks of attendance later, he became the replacement, and undertook the task of spiritually rearing the youths who were left.

Jennifer was also given a raise, and several hours more, at the department store where she worked. Combined their income was set to be 37,000 a year, which wasn't bad starting off. A loan from Durrell's grandmother, his cosigner, had provided the rest of what they needed to obtain the property.

"Pray we will—I want to see you as often as possible," Jennifer rested her head on his chest. "I didn't go through all of this with you just to work for the rest of our lives. Some couples I know don't even see each other except for on the weekends."

"That won't happen," Durrell assured her.

A musical tone interrupted them, and Jennifer reached into her jeans pocket to retrieve her phone. The number wasn't familiar so she pressed the TALK button and answered it, "Hello?"

"Hi Jennifer," A familiar woman's voice. "Long time, huh?"

"No way… Claire?" She sat up.

"Yep," she responded, obviously smiling. "How have you two been?"

"Besides being worried about you, I'm great. Durrell's good, too. I missed you."

"I know, it's been a busy month, sorry," Claire said. "I had to call Durrell's mom-mom to get your new cell number. She told me that you two were tying the knot in a few weeks."

"Yes," Jennifer beamed, lifting her left hand and spreading her fingers. The modest diamond ring fit perfectly on its appropriate finger. "You would have known if you called me sooner."

"I'm sorry, sis…"

"I'm just poking fun at you. You can make it up if you promise to be there."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"This is kind of a weird request, but since I would _never_ want my Dad to be anywhere near my wedding, would you consider walking me down the aisle? I can't think of anyone else I'd want to do it."

"I'd be honored, Jennifer. Just don't expect me to look all that dazzling. I might be able to squeeze into my prom dress."

"As long as you're there," Jennifer laughed. "So what's been keeping you busy? Has your suspension been lifted, finally?"

"Yes it has, thank you," Claire replied. "I'm still not working quite as often as I'd like, though, which has given me time to look into the other cases. I've been able to tie up some loose ends, and I'm pretty close to putting my case together. Once I have one or two more pieces filled in, I'll take it to my superiors."

"What have you found?" Jennifer asked, exchanging glances with her fiancé.

"Well, I made another trip down to the basement of the hospital. The police were there while repairs were being made to the second floor. They had to do some work on the basement as well because of the fire. I wasn't allowed anywhere near the altar room, like with the second floor, but those jerks didn't count on me being resourceful. I used the back entrance, and got down to the hidden underground compartment.

"There were names and papers there that I researched with the help of another friend. And, after some digging I found a coffin with bones inside of it. They ran some tests on the remains and identified the deceased as Arthur B. Doyle. That's the name of the guy who supposedly supplies the finances to maintain the hospital. The checks have been in his name, and using money from his bank account. He's been dead since 1994."

"Have you been able to tie anyone to it?"

"His niece was a nurse at the hospital. I suspect that she was involved with the cult. Can't prove it yet, but she's still alive and in police custody on other charges. It'll only be a matter of time."

"Did anyone survive what happened when we were there?"

"Alexa Johnson. She's been undergoing psychiatric evaluation. They're still not sure what to do with her. The others were either found on the scene or went missing later on."

"Went missing? You think someone cleaned them up to hide evidence or what?"

Claire sighed. Blood and body parts had been carelessly left behind. The corpse of Brad Parker, the cab driver, had been left behind. Missing, however, was a significant chunk of his head. If someone was trying to cover up their deaths and or their existence—they'd done a terrible job. The cult hadn't escaped detection all this time by being careless.

"Maybe," Claire said. She didn't want to concern Jennifer and Durrell with her real suspicions. There was another detail she'd neglected to share. Thirty people had been reported missing during the following two weeks after their encounter with the demon. The cult had never worked that fast.

"Not for you guys to worry, though," Claire grinned. "You two just get ready for the big day. If you haven't picked out a dress yet I'd be glad to help you."

"I'll need you, thanks."

"Anytime, Jenny. Later, my friend."

"Later," Jennifer hung up and yawned, stretching her hands above her head.

"What's going on with the case?" Durrell asked.

"Um…" She hesitated, biting her bottom lip. "Nothing important. The surviving cult members probably rounded up some of the evidence, that's all. She's not far from having a solid case."

"Glad to hear it. The sooner those guys are off the streets the better."

"Oh yeah. So earlier you were just about to assure me that we wouldn't be working so much we wouldn't be able to spend any time together?"

"Nah," Durrell shook his head. "What's the point of it all if you can't sit back to enjoy what you've earned? Don't worry. At the very least we'll have one week to ourselves after we get married. After that, I have a feeling things will lighten up."

"Still not telling me where we're going?" She grinned.

"Nope. I'm talking us away from Erie County, that's all I'll admit. I think we both could use a break from this place. That'll help to put everything behind us so we can worry about the future… and not be weighed down by the past."

"Can't wait," She clung to his waist again and closed her eyes contentedly as they sat, looking forward to the rest of their lives. If the quality house, and the beautiful yard were any indication, their best blessings were yet to come.

….

A single large crow landed on a rooftop far above Shady Dawn. Two hundred identical birds were already there, gathered in a massive circle. Their heads were held low, and they huddled unusually close together. Heavy raindrops continually pelted their feathered bodies. Loud thunder rumbled in the distance, and the dark clouds were occasionally illuminated by lightning bolts. Most humans and animals had sought refuge from the storm hours earlier. It wasn't the weather, however, which had called the flock to their location.

The new arrival stepped forward, standing tall among the others. He bent over and dropped a small round object in the roof's center. Then he retreated immediately and blended in with the crows surrounding him. Besides a few caws here and there, the birds remained silent, watching the seven feet of space in their midst. There, spread out, were the remains of a strange creature. Dark mangled flesh, pieces of bone, and human-like body parts lied among them.

Suddenly, a lightning bolt struck the rooftop, directly hitting the center. Several of the birds stretched their wings, and some flapped as if in preparation to take off. They stayed in place, however, and began cawing—seemingly in distress. All of the birds soon joined in, creating a deafening chorus. On an ordinary day their combined noises would have been audible blocks away. Today, rain and thunder masked the sounds, and the height of their meeting place concealed the congregation. No buildings nearby were remotely comparable in stature.

"If you will not cease your worship of him whom you have been sacrificing to, and if you will not put behind you your vain imaginings – that you caused the birds to aide you by your own power, and that he will deliver you from your enemies – I will give to you what you ask for, but what you do not wish. I will permit the demon you worship to return."

Seconds later, a second bolt struck and the birds' noises became louder and impatient. The flesh and body parts between them began moving on their own. The pieces scattered from the main pile slowly inched toward the rest. A single eye, brought by the larger crow, dragged itself along the surface as well. The iris, dull and lifeless moments ago, was now vibrant and yellow.

"And he shall be with you perpetually, until the end of the age. He shall not be destroyed. He shall remain a thorn in your side, forever."

When the pieces met, they started melding together to form shapes.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Seven

Epilogue

A lone car cruised down a deserted freeway. Its headlights blasted out before it to counter the enclosing darkness. The sky's natural lights were rendered useless by the tall leafy trees overlooking the road on both sides. Inside the vehicle, Stan sat behind the wheel with a confident look on his face. If the darkness was bothering him, he was doing a good job of hiding it. In the passenger's seat his wife Judy, a thin blonde woman sporting shoulder length hair, wasn't as indifferent.

She ran a hand through her hair, glancing nervously through the window beside her. Couldn't see a thing out there. The edge of the road was barely visible. It was almost as if everything outside of the headlight's domain had ceased to exist.

"Why haven't they fixed these streetlights yet?" Judy muttered, complaining more than asking. "Do they expect us to not travel at night?"

She looked to her husband. When he failed to respond soon enough, which in her mind was within three seconds, she pressed him further, "There are deer out here, you know? You remember that accident in the news not long ago?"

"Like that's what you're afraid of," Stan peeked at her from the corner of his eyes.

She waited a few more seconds for him to finish. He didn't go on. "What am I afraid of then, Stan? It's just dark out here and I don't want to get in an accident. Don't we pay an arm and a leg in taxes so the city keeps thing like this from happening? Jeez, Stan."

He was smiling, "You sure it's just the bad service that's got you so uppity? Or are you worried about what old man Johnson was blabbing about? Think there's something out here with us?"

"Don't be absurd," Her widened eyes betrayed the truth. "He's a certified quack. I wouldn't take anything he says seriously. It would make me every bit as foolish as he is."

"Well, it's not quite so absurd when you think about it," Stan raised a hand to his chin and tapped it with his index finger, pretending to be deep in thought. "There have been a lot of disappearances in this county the past week or so. Remember what happened to Otto? Went out to fix his car one night and his wife said she went to talk to him. Turned her back for a second and he was gone…"

"Stan—"

"The wrench he had in his hand was still lying there in the dust. He'd just disappeared. She didn't have any motives to kill him, and in fact she suffered after he left. But if you recall, the investigators had their footprints. He didn't move from that spot. Only way he could have gone was up." He pointed to the ceiling and whistled. "Gone like that. Hasn't been seen or heard from since, five days later. Johnson said it snatches people right off their feet."

"Just stop it, will you?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "Not right now, and not out here of all places!"

"I thought he was a quack," Stan laughed.

His laughter was abruptly cut off when the metallic face of a van appeared, twenty yards ahead and approaching. It was only visible due to the left headlight which extended slightly into the opposite lane. Its own headlights were off. That had allowed it to remain invisible until now. _Wow. _Stan cringed a little. An overactive imagination would have made it seem as if the vehicle materialized out of thin air. He didn't have much of an imagination, but he was unnerved. Taking a deep breath to slow his pounding heart, he flashed the headlights. The opposite driver was briefly visible as the light illuminated the inside of his van. He was a big guy wearing dark clothing—a coat and a wide brimmed hat. His head was tilted forward, hiding his face from view. _What a weirdo._

The vehicles passed each other and Stan immediately glanced into the rearview mirror to see that the other driver had switched on his high beams. He also seemed to be slowing down.

"Why did you do that?" Judy whispered.

"Do what?"

"Flash your headlights!" Her tone was harsh. "Haven't you heard about the gangs around here that play that game? Wait until some do-gooder gives a courtesy flash and then they chase and kill everyone in the car? What else do you think that person was doing without his lights on as dark as it is?"

"You're being way too superstitious," Stan rolled his eyes, then stole a glance in the mirror again. The van had come to a complete halt in the middle of its lane. _Easy, boy. Don't let her get you riled up. _"It's nothing to worry about."

Behind them, the van slowly performed a u-turn, dimming its headlights once again. The driver watched the taillights of the smaller vehicle speeding away into the night. He paused and inhaled through his nostrils, smelling the aroma lingering in the air. Then he lowered his chin, knowingly. One of them had something he wanted.

Completing the turnaround, he applied his weight to the gas and sped after them. Very soon he'd find out who it was, and what they had. And nothing would prohibit him from taking it.


End file.
